


The Past, She is Haunted

by TheCelestialOcean



Series: I'm a Ghost to You, You're a Ghost to Me [2]
Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Arthur, Biting, Dark, Denial of Feelings, Did I mention intensity, F/M, Gun Violence, HELP I HAVEN'T SLEPT IN SO LONG, I WROTE THIS INSTEAD OF SLEEPING FOR REAL OKAY, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have a Joker kink, Longing, Lot's of angst and intensity, Neckz 'n' Throats, Not much fluff to be found here guys, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Smut, Threats of Violence, Violence, twisted feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 12:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21817036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCelestialOcean/pseuds/TheCelestialOcean
Summary: It's been almost two years since Arthur's transformation, and he's now a practiced and seemingly untouchable criminal. Brooke has done her best to move on, to become invisible. But destiny is a funny thing, and her's seems to be intertwined with Arthur's. Will they be each other's undoing?
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Joker, Arthur Fleck/Original Female Character(s)
Series: I'm a Ghost to You, You're a Ghost to Me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569973
Comments: 106
Kudos: 137





	1. Equilibrium

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya everyone! This story takes place approximately 2 years after "Please, Remember Me". It's a sequel but I also tried to make it work as it's own story, for anyone that just wants to read this on its own :) I was planning on writing a few one shots, just glimpses of Arthur and Brooke beyond the first story. But then this idea hit me, and I absolutely had to write it. 
> 
> This story is going in a different direction, a darker direction. I will try to keep the tags updated, but for now just be warned: there will be graphic violence in this story, dark and twisted situations, and dark/intense smut scenes. No fluff to be found here, folks. If that's your kind of thing, please continue!
> 
> And don't be afraid to tell me your opinions! :)
> 
> Oh, and yes... This title is pulled from Big Black Car because yes I am a complete Gregory Alan Isakov slut!

“Hey Brooke, a bunch of us are heading to Wiley Rover, you should come with. You’re off in 20, right?”

You rolled your eyes and tried not to let out an audible sigh. You glanced at your watch. “Yeah I’m off at eight. I’ve gotta get home though, appointment in the morning.” You looked back to the clipboard in your hands, refocusing on finishing the inventory. Michael was about your age, and objectively handsome. He worked out front with the customers, and he was friendly… too friendly. 

“One of these days I’m gonna get you out of your shell, I swear.” He laughed teasingly. 

You snicker, still not looking at him. “Yeah, you do that Michael.” You kept your tone light. He probably really was a nice guy. You’d been at this job for a year and a half and he was _still_ trying to get to know you. 

“Alright Brooke, you have a good night.” He says, still chuckling. You offer a polite wave goodbye, finally looking in his direction to watch him walk away. He was clearly determined to become your friend, and it was unbelievably frustrating. 

Your job was perfect. Stuck in the back of a grocery store, dealing with deliveries, products, all the boring stuff behind the scenes. It kept you busy, paid the bills, and most importantly kept you hidden. The less noticeable you were, the less people knew you well, the better. The closest thing you had to a friend was Kenny, who delivered products to the store every week. He’d smile and nod, silently passing you a pill bottle, never asking questions. It was perfect.

You finished everything up five minutes early, quickly collecting your things and heading home. You’d invested in a car, once you’d built up the necessary funds. Riding the bus had started to make you feel uneasy, and the security of your own car had changed your life for the better. You drove home quickly, taking a few backroads to avoid any traffic. 

You hurried to your apartment, locking the door behind you. You were ready for dinner and a hot bath. You glanced around at the scarce furniture and lack of decor. The downside of investing in a car, was that your money didn’t go toward anything else. Between rent, bills, car insurance and upkeep, money was tight. Making your apartment cozy was low on your list of priorities. You had a bed, and that was all you really needed. 

You warmed up a frozen dinner, poured yourself a generous glass of wine, and relaxed in a hot bath as you ate. Once you’d taken a pill and finished eating, you sank down into the water and lit a joint. You appreciated the feeling of your nerves calming. You’d taken up smoking weed to fill the void that cigarettes had left, having fully quit months ago. It did the trick. 

Once the water had started to cool and the joint was finished, you drained the water and wrapped yourself in a towel. 

You took your dishes to the kitchen, then stood at your living room window. Your building was elevated on a bit of a hill, and you just barely had a view of the downtown area. It was safely at a distance, which helped give you some peace of mind. 

For the most part, your paranoia had calmed down. It had been almost 2 years since the last time you’d seen Arthur, since he’d become Joker. If he was planning to kill you, he would have done it already.

Arthur had officially come out of the shadows a year and a half ago. Just as the speculation about him being dead or alive had reached a fever pitch, suddenly he was on every TV screen and every newspaper. Him and his goons had robbed a bank, and Arthur was caught on one of the security cameras. You could still imagine the footage vividly: He’d paused while his thugs were hard at work, utter chaos surrounding him. He looked straight up at the camera and smiled ear-to-ear. He was in full Joker attire: his bright red suit and green hair a stark contrast to the modern, neutral color scheme of the bank. He lifted a hand and gave a cheerful wave, saluting the camera before turning to finish the job.

The city had gone into overdrive, the confirmation that he was very much alive catching many people off guard. You, of course, found it unsurprising. You’d known with every fiber of your being that he was alive. What _did_ surprise you, however, was how _quickly_ he rose up in the ranks of Gotham’s dark underbelly. He’d quickly climbed the criminal ladder, and now it seemed that he was untouchable. 

It simply didn’t compute in your brain. How could Arthur, sweet, tender Arthur, be a criminal mastermind? Was it always there, just lurking beneath surface? You’d always believed him to be smart, but the cunning nature he presented as Joker … It was something you didn’t think you would ever understand. 

You’d purposefully stopped watching the news about a year ago, tired of being bombarded with his face. The face that wasn’t truly his. You didn’t want to hear any more about the destruction of a human being. 

As you lay in bed, trying to get comfortable, you heard a siren go screaming past. You’d escaped most of the action of the city, but it bled into the outskirts of town. There was really no way to escape it. Of course, you could move out of Gotham entirely. Someday, you would. 

You drifted to sleep, imaging a small house on a beach somewhere. 

*** A Week Later***

After picking up your Celexa, you remembered the empty fridge that awaited you at home. The idea of grocery shopping today made you want to die, so instead you headed to a nearby restaurant and took a seat at the bar. Glancing at the menu, you quickly ordered something and made sure to order a meal to go as well. Some leftovers in your fridge would save you a trip to the grocery store for another day or two. 

You were in the middle of taking a bite out of your burger when a man sat one seat away from you. You glanced at him as he ordered a beer, inwardly cringing. He looked to be around 40, his hair was slicked back and greasy, and his face off-putting in a way you couldn’t put your finger on. You looked away, focusing instead on the TV behind the bar. 

There had been some type of political debate recently, the new Mayor talking about how he’d fix the city. The volume was turned off, but you didn’t need to hear it to know it was all bullshit. 

“Can you believe that guy? He actually thinks he can put a little band aid on the city and fix everything within two years.”

You side eyed the man beside you, soon realizing that his statement was aimed at you. Mouth full of food, you offered a polite smile and nodded your head as if agreeing with him. You did agree with him, but you didn’t want to encourage further conversation. 

“I’ve lived in Gotham my whole life, and there’s nothing that guy can do to fix anything. Poor son of a bitch doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He guffawed, taking a gulp of beer. 

You laughed shortly.

“Have you lived in Gotham for a long time, too?” He asked, his eyes trained on the TV.

“Uh, yeah. Most of my life.” You offered curtly. 

“So, you know what I’m talking about.” 

“Definitely.” You took another large bite, thankfully almost done with the burger. The waiter came back with your box of food to go, and you gladly offered him your card to pay for the bill. He’d just disappeared when familiar colors in your peripheral caught your attention.

You allowed your eyes to find the screen, and there he was in all his twisted glory. You stopped chewing, entranced. You’d avoided the news like the plague, not even bothering to glance at newspapers. It’d been so long since you’d seen him, and your heart jumped in your chest. You weren’t even sure what the news was talking about, what vile thing he’d done this time. Everything around him seemed to blur. 

“You alright?” 

The man’s voice broke you from your spell, and you regained your senses. You tried to nonchalantly look back to your food, taking another bite even though your hands were trembling slightly. 

“Jesus, we’ve got the clueless politicians, and then we’ve got that guy. The stupid fucker. The media can’t get enough of him, they just eat him up. He gives them news coverage on a silver platter.” The man grumbled, and you weren’t even sure if he was still talking to you until he asked “how do you feel about him?”

You shrug your shoulders, motioning to the food filling your mouth. He keeps looking at you, however, and eventually you have to swallow and clear your throat. “You know, I don’t watch the news to be honest with you. So, I can’t really comment on the topic.” It’s not necessarily a lie. 

The waiter came back with your card, and you quickly signed the receipt, annoyed to find your fingers still trembling. When you glanced over, the man was looking at you with his head tilted, a curious look in his eyes. He slightly shook his head, thoughtful. 

“You ever seen him? Like, in person?”

You choke on your food, instantly playing it off as a laugh. You raise an eyebrow. “Me? No. I’ve heard of some people that have, but I guess I’m one of the lucky ones.” You laugh, trying to bluff. 

He slowly starts to chuckle, an odd glint in his eye. "Yeah, you must be _very_ lucky."

You took the final bite of your burger, praising the gods as you clutched your bag of take out and glanced at your watch. “So sorry, I’ve got an important meeting to get to. Have a good rest of the evening!” you announced, mustering up a convincing smile. 

“Yeah, you too.” His face twists into a lopsided smile, somehow unsettling. 

You don’t relax until you’re in your car with the doors locked. You leaned your head back against the seat and closed your eyes for a moment, trying to get ahold of yourself. It’d probably been over a year since you’d seen Arthur or talked about him out loud. You felt knocked off your equilibrium. You angrily hit your hand against the steering wheel, frustrated with yourself. _Really?_ That’s all it took to turn your mind to mush? A glimpse of him on a screen and a stranger asking your opinion of him? _After two long years, this is all the progress you have to show for it? _

Once your hands were no longer shaking, you drove yourself home and got straight into bed. You took two pills, praying for your mind to quiet. 

***  
The next few days were lethargic. You quietly made it through each work day, successfully avoiding as much human interaction as possible. You got a fresh bottle of pills, thankfully. Your boss announced he was putting together a holiday celebration for the entire team. It shocked you a bit, realizing that Christmas was indeed just over a month away. And you finally, begrudgingly, went grocery shopping to stock up your kitchen. 

It felt like you were carrying fifty pounds on each arm as you struggled to your car. The night was dark and silent, except for a siren wailing a few blocks away. You leaned into your backseat, relieved to set the bags down and regain feeling in your arms. 

You felt someone surge against you from behind, knocking you into the car entirely right on top of your groceries. A hand painfully pressed your mouth shut before you could scream, terror rushing through your veins as they rushed into the backseat on top of you. The hand that wasn’t on your mouth pushed your head into the car seat, keeping you from turning to look at them. 

You struggled to breathe through your nose, trying to kick with your legs to no avail. That’s when you noticed the smell, so strong and overpowering that you started to gag. It felt like hours passed as you grew drowsier, your vision spotting and growing fuzzy around the edges. Soon you couldn’t feel your body, unable to struggle against your assailant. 

***

Your eyes shot open as you sucked air into your lungs desperately. You sat up, your head heavy with the worst headache you’d ever experienced. The world was pitch black, and you blindly reached for the bottle of pills next to the bed. Your hand found nothing but air, right where your bedside table should be. You cried out, desperate for some relief from the pounding of your skull. 

Suddenly it felt like your guts were doing somersaults. You quickly rolled out of the bed and your body met hard floor with a thud. It was too dark to see anything, though your eyes were beginning to adjust. You gasped when your hands found some sort of container. Maybe a trashcan? Whatever it was, it would serve its purpose. Unable to hold back any longer, you vomited until there was nothing left. The world was spinning as you rested your head against the cold floor, instantly curling up on your side and drifting off. 

***

You groaned at the brightness of the room. Your body was aching, your muscles sore against the hard floor beneath you. Your head was still aching slightly, but you felt much better overall. 

Your sight came into focus, and alarm surged through you as you sat up. Prison bars. You were facing a wall of prison bars. You lunged to your feet, crossing the room and wrapping your hands around the metal. You pushed against them, but there was no give. You quickly noticed a gate, but it wasn’t budging. It was locked from the outside. 

Tears filled your eyes and heated panic flooded your veins. “Hello! Hello, can anyone hear me!? _Please_ help me, is anyone there?” You screamed. “_Help, please help me!”_ there was silence. The room beyond the bars was quite large, the walls and floor white. It was completely empty, aside from a desk and a chair. Light was pouring in through a couple of windows. At the opposite side of the room, was a door. “Help! _Please,_ I’m locked in here you have to help me!” You cried, your voice cracking.

There was only more silence, and you pressed your face against the cold steel in defeat. Eventually, you turned around to take in the rest of your surroundings. A decent sized bed took up most of the space, and the rest of the room was empty. All except for the black bin sitting to the side of the room, the one that had come to your rescue before. 

The walls were bare, although painted a nice cream color. Your eyes bugged when you spotted a wooden door on one of the walls, and you rushed to open it. Disappointment hit you like a freight train, however, when you were met with a bathroom. Toilet, sink, a tiny shower. You stepped back, pressing a hand to your temple as you sat on the bed. 

_Fuck,_ why couldn’t you remember what had happened? You remembered being sick last night, but everything else was a blur. You’d picked up your Celexa, and then gone shopping. You could remember picking up a bottle wine, setting it in your cart. _What the fuck happened to me? _

A sound from across the room had you leaping off the bed and flying to the gate. “Thank god! Please help me! You have to help me!” You yelled, your hands gripping the bars like your life depended on it. The door swung open, and a man in his late 30s stepped into the room. 

He seemed surprised for a moment, before his features calmed into a chilling grin. “Oh good, you’re awake. Was beginning to wonder how long you’d be out.”

His nonchalant behavior caused your brow to furrow, and you noticed he was carrying something. It was a large tray, covered in food. “I’m so happy to see you, I don’t think you understand. I’m locked in here, I can’t remember how I got here and I need you to find keys to let me out. _Please.”_ You pleaded, pointing to the latch on the gate. 

He just grinned and stepped closer, and something about him made you step away until the backs of your legs hit the bed. 

“Oh, I understand completely. Here, this is your food for the day. Make it last.” He walked right up to the gate, bending down to unlock a small hatch which he slid the tray of food through. You watched as he relocked the hatch.

“Wait, look! That keyring. You must have the key to the gate!” You pointed in excitement.

He stood up, holding the keyring up and glancing between it and you. “What, you think _I_ would have the key?” He chuckled like you’d made a joke. “Only the boss has _that_ key. Sleep tight, alright?” He winked, sticking his keys into a pocket and turning away from you. 

Your heart dropped and you sank to your knees. “Wait…what _is_ this? Where am I? What _boss?_ You have to let me out of here, I don’t understand, _please!”_ You cried, tears filling your eyes. He didn’t answer you, simply disappearing as the heavy door thudded shut behind him. 

The reality was slowly sinking in. This was no accident. This was a personal prison. The room had a bed, and a bathroom. You were being delivered food. This was designed for a long-term confinement. Your whole body trembled, and you gasped for air as your throat seemed to be tightening. 

You were absolutely _fucked._


	2. Tell Me About Joker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke's imprisonment takes a confusing and violent turn.

*** 2 Days Later ***

Misery. Complete, around-the-clock misery. It was eating you alive, driving you insane. All you could do was curl up on the bed, moaning as your body shook. You were drenched in sweat, your muscles cramped and sore. You weren’t sure what time it was, what day it was, or how long you’d been here. You’d lost track entirely, everything a fuzzy blur. You heard a door open in the distance.

“You need to eat sometime, you know.” 

A tear streamed down your cheek, the comforter pulled all the way to your chin. “I can’t.” You whispered, knowing he probably couldn’t hear you. You didn’t want to throw up anymore, your throat was already too raw. The nausea twisting around your stomach assured you that anything that went down, would come _right back up._ “I need my pills.” You cried. 

“What? You’re gonna have to talk louder.” 

_“I need my pills._ Just please, get me my pills. _Please._ I’m going to die.” A violent tremor shook your body and you groaned in pain. 

“Sorry, sunshine. No can do.” He chuckled. You wanted to throw something in his direction. It was the same guy that always came to see you; _Shithead,_ as you liked to call him. He’d brought you food at some point a few days ago, and you’d foolishly scarfed it all down. The withdrawals hit less than an hour later, and it was not pretty.

“Eat if you can, we need to get you nice and healthy. The boss is getting impatient.” 

“Your boss can go fuck himself.” You muttered. He laughed loudly, and you wanted to throw the very full puke-bucket. See if he laughed then. 

“I’ll be sure to let him know you said that. I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow. Like I said, eat if you can.” You grumbled a response, listening to his footsteps disappear and the door open and shut. 

_The boss is getting impatient._ Impatient for what? You’d begged Shithead to tell you something, anything. Then the withdrawals hit and you could barely speak. You wanted to think, consider your options, try to put the pieces together and figure out where the fuck you were. But your brain hurt, and everything was foggy. You pulled the covers over your head, desperate to drown everything out. Maybe the bed would turn into a black hole, and you would sink into another dimension. You’d welcome it. 

*** 3 Days Later ***

You were sitting on the bed, your back pressed against the wall. The cold felt good against your clammy skin. You were trying to get some food in your stomach, knowing you hadn’t truly eaten in days. Your symptoms were beginning to fade, thank god. You still felt like shit, but it was at least bearable now. 

You allowed yourself to wallow in despair. You were locked up, held prisoner, going through withdrawals, and were probably going to die. You wanted to fight, to survive. But for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out how to do it. There was nothing you could use as a weapon, you’d searched. 

And even if you managed to find a weapon, what would you do with it? Knock out Shithead, grab his keyring, then what? You had no idea what was beyond this room. You couldn’t just make a blind run for it. Plus, Shithead said repeatedly that he didn’t have the key to your cell – only the _boss_ had it. The entire situation felt hopeless, and all you could do was wait. 

The room grew darker as the day went on. You knew it was getting close to December, the days getting shorter. Your withdrawals had really fucked you over. You could have marked the walls or something, kept track of how many days passed. Now you had absolutely no clue.

The door swung open, to your surprise. He’d already delivered food today, and he never came twice in one day. He stepped up to the gate and crossed his arms, studying you. “You look better.” He noted. 

You wiped your nose and slightly nodded your head. “Yeah, well don’t get too excited. My insides still feel like they took a trip to China without me.”

He raised an eyebrow, silent for a moment. “It’s time.”

You perked up, lifting your head away from the wall. Before you could respond, he was opening the gate. Your eyes narrowed in annoyance. “So only the _boss_ has that key, right?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Special occasion, sunshine. Come on.” He motioned for you to get up, and your façade of strength fell apart. You struggled to stand, and huffed in frustration when he came close and pulled you up off the bed. He held your arm until you were steady, then motioned for you to follow him. 

You took shaky steps, realizing numbly that you were finally leaving the cell. He opened the big main door, and you tried to hide your anticipation. You’d finally know what was out here, waiting for you. It was a long, harshly lit hallway with doors all the way down. No sign of stairs or an elevator, no indication of how to escape. While you were still trying to take everything in, Shithead gently pushed you through a doorway. 

The lighting was extremely dim, and there was a long table at the center of the room. Suddenly the door closed behind you, and you turned to see no sign of Shithead, the door locking. Fuck. 

“Hello there.” The voice came from the far end of the room, and you slowly turned. You hadn’t noticed the figure sitting at one end of the table, a man that looked older. His hair was gray, he had a scruffy beard and eyes that were too small. He gestured to the opposite end of the table. “Please, have a seat.” His voice was deep and coarse. You instantly disliked him. 

You hesitantly took the seat, feeling the nausea of the past few days make a reappearance. “Look, sir. There’s been some mistake. I don’t know who you think I am, but you have the wrong person. I don’t have anything to offer you, no family to pay you a ransom, a few hundred dollars in my savings account. You really, really have the wrong person.” 

He sat forward in his chair, shaking his head. “I assure you, we have the right person. Brooke.” 

Your blood chilled, your already clammy skin beading with sweat. “How do you… How do you know my name?” 

“I have some questions to ask you, and I’d like you to answer honestly.” He smiled without teeth, a dangerous look in his eyes. “Can you do that for me? Be honest with me?” His tone made you want to disappear through the floor. You meekly nodded your head yes. 

“Good, that’s a good start. Let’s start off easy. Tell me a bit about yourself, Brooke. How you ended up in Gotham. Your time in this city.”

You gulped, your brow furrowed. “Okay… I guess I can do that. Is there anything in particular you want to know? Any… specific information?”

He shook his head tersely. “Just talk, Brooke.”

“Alright… Well I moved to Gotham when I was 19, about 12 years ago. I’ve lived in the city since then… working a boring job, living a boring life in general. I don’t… there isn’t really much more to say, I’m sorry I really don’t know what you’re looking for.” 

He was still as a statue, his hands folded on the table in front of him. “So, you’ve lived here for a long while and you’d say your life has been pretty uneventful.” He surmised, and you nodded. 

“Yes, that’s all true.”

“Any family? Friends? Boyfriends?” He queried. 

A sense of unease crept into your gut, adding to your nausea. You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to keep calm. “My family is dead. I don’t have friends. And I’ve had a few boyfriends, but none in recent years.” 

He nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. “No friends. Alright. And how many years has it been since your last relationship, would you say?” 

Your leg bounced beneath the table, and you pretended to be considering it. “Gosh, it must have been five years ago now, maybe six? Time flies.” You offered what you hoped resembled a smile. 

He smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Is that so. No flings? A girl that looks like you, you really expect me to believe that? Come on, be honest remember? Really think about it. No flirting with kind young men, no male friendship that might’ve turned into something more?”

You were disturbed by the question. It was clear he was searching for something in particular, and you didn’t like the direction this was taking. You shrugged casually. “Nope. Never had time for it, too busy working and living my own life. I’ve been burned before, didn’t want to go through it again.” It was the truth, for the most part. 

His fingers tapped against the table. “Brooke, you told me earlier that you were going to be honest with me.”

“I… am, I am being honest with you.” 

“Brooke, Brooke… I know that you aren’t.” He stood up from his chair, his stature huge and muscular. Your hands trembled, but you hid it beneath the table. 

“I don’t know what you’re digging for, I’m being honest with you! Completely honest, it’s the absolute truth!” 

Suddenly he was across the room with just a few strides, and you flinched in your seat. His hand gripped the back of your neck and he pressed your face down against the table, holding you down with unwavering strength. 

_“Please, please, I swear I am telling you the absolute truth!”_ You cried out, desperately. 

He leant down until you could feel his breath on your ear. “Tell. Me. About. Joker.” 

You had to fight to keep from throwing up, feeling your face grow hot and your senses run wild. “What?” you whispered, struggling against his iron grip. He whacked your head against the table, hard. You cried out, trying to lift your arms to fight him. He grabbed them with one hand, forcing them against the table above your head. His grip around your throat squeezed, and you found yourself gasping for air until he finally loosened up. 

“I don’t know anything about the Joker, I swear to you!” You begged, watching your tears hit the table. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me rephrase my question, Brooke. Tell me what you know about _Arthur Fleck.”_ He sneered. 

Your heart clenched. “Arthur Fleck? The guy that turned into Joker? Why on earth do you think that I would-“

His fingers squeezing your throat again cut you off. He banged your head against the table harder, disorienting you further as you sobbed in agony. “It’s no use lying to me, Brooke. It’s only going to hurt you, I promise you that. I _know._ You know Arthur Fleck. And I need you to tell me _everything,_ right now.”

“I can’t tell you something that I don’t know!” You whimpered. He yanked you up out of the chair entirely, holding you by the throat. Black spots started to appear in your vision, your chest burning. 

_“TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT ARTHUR!” _

You lifted your hands and pulled at his fingers, attempting to loosen his grip as you struggled to breathe. He set you down only to shove you across the room, your back slamming against the wall before you fell to the floor in a heap. 

_“I don’t know! I don’t know how else to explain to you that I DON’T KNOW, nor have I EVER KNOWN, the Joker or Arthur Fleck!”_ You yelled, lifting your hands to protect your face in case he came after you again. 

It was silent for a moment as he stared at you, standing by the table. You flinched when he took a step forward, but all he did was knock on the door three times. It swung open, and Shithead leaned into the room. 

“We’re done here.” 

Shithead nodded, turning to you. “Come on, sunshine. Time to go.”

You leant against the wall to steady yourself as you got to your feet, staggering toward the door. The man was staring at you dangerously, and you tried your best to avoid looking at him. “I’ll see you again soon, _sunshine.” _

Your lip trembled as Shithead pulled you into the hallway, leading you back to that all-too-familiar room. You should fight, try to escape. But you didn’t have anything left. Soon you were behind bars once again, collapsed onto your bed as the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was fairly short, I wanted to get this out since the story really ramps up in the next chapters. 
> 
> Now I'm gonna go watch Joker in HD on my TV with surround sound since my preorder will be available in 30 minutes :D


	3. What Was It All For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Brooke struggles to accept her fate, a curveball is thrown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha haaaaaa okay so it's 3 AM where I live and I've been awake writing this chapter but I just couldn't stop! I'm just overwhelmingly motivated to write this story, maybe it's because I watched Joker again a few hours ago.
> 
> I have this story mapped out entirely and now that I have it all planned out I'm so excited to write more! Hope you enjoy, please let me know your thoughts :)

You woke up with a headache, unsure how long you’d been sleeping. You stumbled to the bathroom, desperate to pee. As you washed your hands, you made the mistake of glancing up at your reflection and grimaced. Your cheekbone was already covered in a massive bruise, your eyes red and puffy, dark bags under your eyes. You decided to take a shower, hoping it would help. 

Standing under the lukewarm water, cleaning your hair with 2-in-1 shampoo, you tried to get your head on straight. Everything had changed, catching you completely off guard. These men somehow knew you, knew your name. They knew about Arthur. How was any of this possible? And just what information about him were they hoping to get out of you?

You had to stick to your bluff. It was your only chance. You had to convince them they had the wrong Brooke, you knew nothing about Arthur, had never met him. Maybe they would let you go. You could tell them you had no idea where you were, who they were. They could blindfold you, drop you off anywhere, you wouldn’t go to the police and wouldn’t have any information for them even if you did. 

You finished showering, already feeling better. You sat on your bed for hours, thinking things over. You had nothing to do in this damn room besides think. You tried to remember the night you were taken, what had happened while you were shopping for groceries. It was no use; your mind was blank. You worked your way back hour by hour: Celexa, work, work again, appointment with your therapist, your boss announcing the Christmas party, more work again, the restaurant…the restaurant. 

Everything clicked into place. Somehow, someone had figured out your connection to Arthur. They’d found you, probably followed you for god knows how long, waiting for the right moment. You’d gone to the restaurant, they sent a man in to feel you out. He’d so pointedly asked your opinion on Joker. Fuck, he’d asked you if you’d ever seen him in person; it was all so obvious. You felt sick as you remembered the conversation, realizing how suspicious you’d acted. It hadn’t crossed your mind that the man could be targeting you in that way, you’d assumed he was just an average creep. 

You’d assumed that all of this was some sort of sexual scheme, or a ploy to get ransom money. It was clear now that you’d been very, very wrong. You’d always assumed that if someone were to come after you, it would be Arthur himself. How did anyone else even find out about you, connect you to him? 

At some point you drifted to sleep, but it was restless. When you woke up again daylight was streaming through the room, and a tray of food was waiting for you. You forced yourself to eat some of it, staring ahead in thought. You were still missing something, you had to be.

You weren’t sure how long you stared into space when you heard the door open. Shithead. He casually approached your room, standing with his hands in his pockets. “He wants to see you again.”

You gave him your best shit-eating grin. “The feeling isn’t mutual.”

He rolled his eyes and reached for his keys. Before long you were back in the dark room, but the “boss” was nowhere to be seen. You sat in silence, for what felt like hours. 

The door swinging open behind you made you jump, and it was quickly locked. You could hear him breathing. The feeling of something cold pressing against your head made your blood turn to ice. You’d expected a lot of things, but a gun pointed at your head somehow hadn’t been one of them. 

“I’m going to cut right to the chase here, Brooke. No games this time. Tell me everything you know about him. Start at the beginning.”

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to stay calm. He wouldn’t shoot you, it was a bluff. You had to stick to your plan. 

“Sir, look. I really, really, wish that I could help you. Trust me, I wish I had something to tell you. If I knew anything about Arthur Fleck, I would have told you already.”

He let out a heavy sigh, slowly walking around until he was standing in front of your chair. He caressed your face with the gun, slowly brushing it around your features. You didn’t let yourself close your eyes, refusing to break eye contact. 

“I lied.” You blurted out, and he raised an eyebrow in surprise, the gun stopping in the center of your forehead. “I lied about my life. I have close coworkers that probably reported me missing the first day I didn’t show up to work. I still have one relative, a sister that I guarantee went straight to the police and won’t stop searching until she finds me. Look, mister. I don’t know who any of you people are, and to be perfectly honest with you, I couldn’t care less. I don’t even know where I am. You blindfold me, drop me off wherever you want, I’ll disappear. I won’t speak a single word of this, ever, to anyone. And even if I did go to the police, I’d have no information to give them. I’ll forget this ever happened, and you can restart the search for whoever you’re looking for; because it isn’t me.”

His face was impassive, until suddenly a smile broke out on his face and he burst into laughter. “Bravo, Brooke. That was very, very good.”

He rushed at you, knocking the chair over as you went flying to the floor in the corner of the room. He hovered above you, pressing you to the ground with his knee and pushing the gun into your forehead. You screamed at the top of your lungs, begging for somebody to help you. Your collected, controlled front was shattered, and terror flooded your entire body. 

He released the safety, your eyes widening as you continued to scream bloody murder. 

“This is your final opportunity, Brooke. After this, you’re done. You have two choices here: you start talking, or I kill you. The choice is yours.” His voice was calm, his glare unwavering. 

You closed your eyes, feeling your survival instincts beginning to kick in. You wanted to talk, you did. But a small part of you resisted, refused. You couldn’t do it. You weren’t sure if you were protecting Arthur, or why you would feel the need to protect him. When you reopened your eyes, your vision was blurry with tears. “I. Don’t. Know. Him.” 

His eyes narrowed, his face twitching with silent rage. He held the gun to you for a long while, watching you fall apart below him. 

He stood up, knocked on the door, and put his gun away. You were frozen on the floor, your hands raised in shock. Shithead leaned into the room, and he almost looked worried. His gaze darted from you to the boss, waiting for instruction. 

“Take her back to her room, I’ll deal with her later tonight; I don’t want to get the carpet dirty.” He shot a menacing smile in your direction, stepping out of the way. Shithead immediately helped you off the floor, and put your arm around his shoulders to keep you steady as he walked you back to your room and helped you onto the bed. 

You stared at nothing. He paused for a while, and almost looked like he was going to apologize. Instead he gave your shoulder a brief squeeze, locked your door, and disappeared. You were alone once again, left to accept your fate. You’d never expected your life to end this way, so… meaningless. You curled up on your side on top of the covers. What was it all for? 

***

When you woke up, it was dark outside. You didn’t move, curled up and staring at the wall. Any moment now. Any time, someone would walk through that door, lead you down the hallway to some unknown location. You were going to die. Your life would end in this place. In some room with no carpet, an easy cleanup. You thought about your parents, what they’d think. Were they watching? You certainly hoped they weren’t going to witness this. And your sister, what about her? Would you simply disappear, your body never found? Would she even know you died, and if she did, would she mourn you? 

The door opened, and your eyes clenched shut. You weren’t ready yet. You just weren’t. You wanted to live. You listened to the footsteps grow closer until they stopped, plunging the room into an eerie silence. You tried to control your emotions, not wanting them to see you cry. 

“Hello, Brooke.” 

Your eyes opened in surprise, a shockwave of disbelief traveling from head to toe. You were imagining things, you had to be. You sat up slowly, your heart pounding. Your eyes finally darted toward the door and there he was, waiting for you, smirking. 

“Arthur?”


	4. The Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke and Arthur are reunited, and she's left conflicted and confused.

You blinked to make sure he was real. “Arthur…but…”

“Well, you’ve got the right house, but the wrong tenant.” His voice was deeper and raspier than you remembered. 

His words didn’t compute as you stared with your jaw dropped. “What?”

He took a hit from his cigarette and blew the smoke in your direction. “It’s Joker.”

You studied him up and down; the red suit, the painted face, the green hair… it was the first time you’d seen it all in person. His eyes sparkled with mischief and he was clearly relishing your reaction, but you couldn’t help it. He’d been fascinating to watch on TV, in person he was… hypnotic. You couldn’t look away. 

“Like what you see?” 

“You… you’re so… different.” 

His eyebrow raised at the slight disappointment in your tone. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You weren’t sure how to answer him. It _was_ a bad thing. As mesmerizing as he was, he wasn’t Arthur. You stared at his face, trying to make out his features beneath the makeup. Instead, all you could see was his rage as he shot Murray in the head… his crimes in the newspapers, the countless deaths tied to him. You were looking into the face of a murderer. 

The adrenaline rush began to dissipate as reality set in. You could tell he sensed the change in your composure, his eyes challenging you.

“What are you doing here, Arthur?” you asked suspiciously. “Did you just get here? How did you find me?” 

He laughed. “Oh darling, I’ve been here the entire time; I am the boss, after all.” 

Your brow furrowed, you shook your head. “That’s impossible… I’ve met the boss.”

He shot you a pointed look. “Did he call himself the boss?” 

You started to shake your head yes, then paused as you doubted yourself. Shithead had mentioned the boss, then took you straight to that asshole to be questioned… surely, he was the boss. Fuck, maybe you’d just assumed. Fuck... he'd never actually _said_ he was the boss. Okay, so if he wasn't the boss… “But… that man tortured me…”

“_Tortured?_ That feels like a _bit_ of an exaggeration, wouldn’t you agree?”

The world was spinning out of control. “You _knew?_”

He chuckled. “Oh, _sunshine_, he was following my orders.”

Before you knew it, you were off the bed and tugging at the steel bars, screaming at him. “You _son of a bitch._ This entire time, you’ve been behind _all of it._ I should have fucking known, _I should have fucking known!”_

He watched with amusement, completely unshaken by your hostility. “So aggressive, Brooke. You’re so… _different._” He teased. “I have to admit, anger is a good look for you. You should try it more often.”

You groaned in disgust, and you couldn’t decide if you hated him or yourself more. “It was you, it was all you. You have me locked up in this fucking room. _You_ have the fucking key to this stupid gate. You had me pushed around, interrogated… what the fuck was that, some sort of test? You’re sick, Arthur. You’re a _sick man._”

“It’s _Joker._ And I’ll accept that compliment, sweetheart.”

“You know, if you wanted to say hello so badly, there were _probably_ easier ways to do it, Arthur. You didn’t need to send a guy to scope me out at the bar, have your thugs kidnap me and imprison me for weeks. Next time, just send a fucking postcard.” You snapped at him. 

You saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. “It’s _Joker._ And what guy at a bar?”

You stuttered, brows pinched. “The creepy guy, the one that sat next to me at Hoppers.” 

He took another hit, rolling his other hand in a circular motion. “Keep talking, Brooke.” 

You brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “He was creepy: older, hair slicked back, gray, skinny. He sat next to me and talked about the Mayor, asked me how long I’d lived in Gotham. Then he asked me about… you. My opinion on you.” 

“Only good things, I trust.” He interrupted, and you rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t say anything. I was a bit caught off guard, to put it lightly. He even asked if I’d ever seen you in person.” Arthur nodded, a knowing smile lifting the corners of his painted mouth. 

“So he _is_ one of your guys.” You accused, taking his grin as a confession. 

“I’m afraid not - the man you spoke to was David Tench.” He turned away from you, finishing one cigarette and lighting another. 

“Should that name mean something to me?”

He was silent, and you watched the smoke billow. “Let’s just say I’ve upset him. Slightly.” He turned back around, smirking. “I tend to have that affect.”

“I’m shocked. So, what does this Tench have to do with me. Why did he ask me about you?”

“You know, you still ask too many questions. Good to know some things never change. Tench was planning to kidnap you.” His eyes twinkled like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “I beat him to the punch.” 

You pressed your forehead against the cold steel. Just when you’d thought you’d figured out your situation, put all the pieces together… “Okay.” You took a deep breath, trying to keep your cool. “Arthur, _why exactly_ would he want to kidnap me?”

“_It’s Joker._ He thinks you have information that he wants.” He giggled, laughing at some joke you weren’t in on. “Thinks he’s smart. He’s a stupid prick.”

You closed your eyes, trying to let everything soak in. This was too much, it was just too much. “Look, Arthur-“

_“It’s JOKER, for the last fucking time.”_ You jumped back from the steel bars in shock as he lunged at you, his eyes piercing yours. For once, you were thankful for your imprisonment, thankful for a barrier. He looked like a rabid animal, like he’d tear out your throat if he got the opportunity. 

You turned to face the bed, embarrassed by the tears that welled up and instantly started to spill. To your horror, he began laughing behind you. “Come on Brooke, _more tears,_ really? Laugh a little, it’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

Your lips quivered, your body heating with rage. “Laugh, you want me to _laugh?_” You turned and before you could stop yourself, spit in his face. He was caught off guard but kept on laughing, wiping at his face with his red sleeve. 

“I just washed this suit.” He giggled. 

“Gee, I’m _sure_ glad you’re enjoying yourself. You know what? _Fuck. You._ I have been knocked unconscious, forced to go through withdrawals, screamed at, my head feels like it’s been shoved into a meat grinder thanks to your thug slamming it against the table every time he felt the itch, I had a _fucking gun pressed to my head._ And you know the worst part? _I defended you._ I didn’t _once_ admit that I know you. And you know what? As far as I’m concerned, I don't know you. You’re a monster, that’s all that you are. Fuck you for treating me this way. Jesus, I know we only slept together one time, but it was _more_ than that for me. You meant a _lot_ to me, and even after all this time, I was prepared to die like an idiot because of some fucked up instinct to protect you. So with all my heart, one more time so it gets through your thick fucking skull: _fuck, you._”

You let out a massive sigh of relief, feeling a sense of liberation for the first time in... years. He was staring at you with something akin to curiosity. He took a long hit from the cigarette, stepped closer, and blew the smoke straight into your face. Never breaking eye contact, he leaned a shoulder casually against one of the steel bars. 

“Feel better?” he asked. You couldn’t tell if it was meant as a joke, or if he was serious. You did feel better, actually, letting out a sigh as an overwhelming weight on your shoulders lifted. 

“Good. You need to learn to let loose more often, Brooke. It’s painful watching you think constantly: I can see the wheels turning at all hours of the day, even now. It’s exhausting just watching it. I’ll try to find you some kind of stress relief. Maybe a punching bag, that kinda thing.”

You closed your eyes, pressing fingers against your temples in frustration. “I don’t _need_ a punching bag. What I _need_ is for you to tell me exactly how much longer you plan to keep me locked up like a zoo animal, watching me. Is there a fucking peephole hidden in this room somewhere?”

He scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a security camera.” 

Your voice cracked with emotion. “I have a life, you know. I’d prefer to get back to it before I lose the little that I have.”

He snickered, shaking his head. “Oh, Brooke. You still don’t get it, do you? Cute.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Get…what?”

He just laughed, still resting against the bars and looking away from you. “You shouldn’t ask questions when you already know the answer, remember Brooke?”

You were taken aback, trying to decipher his meaning. Then you saw it. His suit had fallen open in his casual position, and there is was. A handgun tucked into his pants. The color drained from your face. “Wait…you wouldn’t…” you backed away, sitting on the bed as far away from him as possible.

He said nothing. It was confirmation enough. “You really are a _monster._ Your thug didn’t shoot me because _you_ wanted to do it yourself. _That’s_ why you’re here right now, face-to-face, just to make it as painful as possible.” You laugh through your tears. “I guess I always knew you would be the one to do it.”

He wasn’t even looking at you, relaxed as ever. You couldn’t hold back a sob. You’d known it would be shocking to see him again, but this was worse than you imagined. Maybe this is why you stopped watching the news, stopped looking at his painted face on the papers; you’d kept Joker at a distance, to somehow protect your memory of Arthur.

“What made you think I’d be the one to do it?” he queried. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly. “Why _wouldn’t_ I? I used to watch the news, I kept up with the deaths. You’ve killed off practically everyone that was in your life before Joker. I think I fall into that category, wouldn’t you agree? I always figured it would catch up with me eventually. I’ve spent the last years trying my best to become invisible, and it was all for nothing because here we are.”

He nodded, dropping his cigarette and stepping it out. “Here we are.” He confirmed. 

You quietly sniffled, wiping your nose. 

“I wasn’t planning to kill you, Brooke.”

You startled, almost falling over. “What?”

He finally turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “I was never planning to kill you. I just needed to test you, see what would happen if Tench got ahold of you. I told my men to push you as far as they could. You were quite impressive, I’ll admit. I was proud, kitten.” He grinned, his eyes twinkling. You blinked, an odd sensation in your chest. 

“Anyway, what I was _going_ to say is that I can’t let you leave. I didn’t expect you to jump straight to death execution-style. Jesus, Brooke, lighten up.” 

“Well, you… you had… you have a gun in your pants!” you stammered defensively, before seeing his face and realizing he was just trying to get a rise out of you. He broke out into laughter, and you were so relieved that you almost joined in. Then it hit you. 

“What do you mean you can’t let me leave? For how long?” you asked warily. 

He slowly stopped chuckling, his eyes hardening. “If I let you go, Tench _will_ find you. It’s inevitable. As much as I hate the bastard and find him utterly humorless, he has men everywhere.” 

“Okay, but… I’ll be careful. I’m good at being invisible, Arthur. And if he ever found me… you said yourself I held my own in that interrogation. I wouldn’t tell them anything.” 

He silently glared at you. “It’s. Joker.” Then he turned away from you, arms crossed. “I can’t afford that risk, Brooke.”

You stood up from the bed, pressing against the bars. He was so close, you could reach out and touch him. You didn’t. “Well… exactly how long are we talking?”

He barely turned to glance over his shoulder, his eyes cold. A chill ran down your spine when he started toward the door. 

“Wait… Arthur… _please_…” 

Without a word or a glance, he’s out the door and you’re left in silence. “_Arthur?_” 

***  
The weeks pass slowly. You thought about asking Shithead the date, figuring out how long you’d been here. Then you realized it didn’t matter, and maybe it was easier to not know. It made the days blur together, one long stream of nothingness. 

Ever since that day, Shithead had been…nicer. You were pretty sure he felt bad about the interrogation, the terror you’d been put through. He actually brought you a deck of cards, something to pass the time. You asked him for a sketchbook and a pencil, but he denied you. Apparently, a pencil can be used as a weapon. In hindsight, it made sense. 

He offered to get you a TV, but you turned it down. It was somehow peaceful, to not be in the middle of Gotham. To be completely in the dark about what chaos was happening in the city, what political idea had fallen apart, what social service had been cut. You’d never had this much time to just…think. 

It was a blessing and a curse. You thought about _everything_. Far too often, you thought about Arthur. You still weren’t completely sure how you felt about your…reunion. You hated him. Hated him for putting you through this. You hated that he wasn’t really Arthur. 

And yet, you didn’t hate him. You couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this chapter was a bit longer, lot's of conversation had to happen to fully flesh out this initial reunion :) 
> 
> Things are gonna start getting...spicy...
> 
> I'm leaving for the entire weekend on a massive family vacation, so bare with me. The next chapter might be out tomorrow, but if I'm unable to finish it in time it won't be out until Tuesday so I apologize in advance :( kudos and comments are appreciated as always!


	5. Merry Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur pays Brooke a visit on Christmas, and dangerous sparks begin to fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve everyone! I kind of subconsciously set this story around Christmas-time... so I went with it this chapter lol. 
> 
> Next chapter will be a dooooooozy. Hope you enjoy your holiday, and if your Christmas is not going very well (like mine lololol save me please) I hope it gets better <3

You were yawning and rubbing the sleep from your eyes when you noticed Arthur. He was sitting outside your cell, looking down at something on the desk in the center of the room. It was the first time you’d seen him since that first night.

“Are you nocturnal? It’s 2:30 in the afternoon.” He said without looking up. 

You stretched your arms out, rolling your eyes. “Time blurs together when you’re held prisoner in a cell with no clock.”

His eyes shot up to you, a brow raised. “Would you _like_ a clock?” 

“No thanks, I’m kind of used to not having one now.”

“Then stop complaining.” He ordered. 

You almost smiled. Almost. He picked up a pen, holding the cap with his teeth as he began writing.

“What are you doing?” you asked, curiosity getting the best of you. 

The pen didn’t stop moving, but he dropped the cap from between his lips. “Making a getaway plan, darling. I’ve got a big project coming up.” 

“Is that where you’ve been for weeks, making plans?”

He shrugged a shoulder casually. “No, I had to take care of something important in the city. Why, miss me?” he smirked, a piece of green hair falling into his face.

“You’re fucking impossible.” You groaned, drawing laughter from him. 

“I’ve been told.” He sat up in his chair, setting the pen down and crossing his arms over his chest. “Some of Tench’s men killed a few of mine. We paid them a visit.”

You chuckle bitterly, nodding your head. “Ah, of course. You’ve been out hunting people down and murdering them.”

“Tsk, tsk. So judgmental, darling.” 

Your laughter was laced with sarcasm. “What, you want me to congratulate you on murdering innocent people?” 

You jumped when his fist slammed down on the desk. “Innocent?” He laughed boisterously, pretending to wipe a tear from a blue-painted eye. “You are too funny. I guess you missed the part where _they_ killed my men _first_. Or perhaps I should tell you about the time one of them, Jimmy, raped a woman behind a dumpster? He got off scot-free. Or Peter, he was a winner - his wife and child went missing a few years back. What do you think happened to them, hmm? I could go through each of their rap sheets for you, maybe I’d finish by sundown.” he paused, running a hand through his hair. “You assume people are innocent, kitten. It’s not a good mistake to make.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. He had a point, but did it justify _murder?_ You decided to bite your tongue, not wanting to antagonize him any further. He went back to writing, letting the topic die. 

You slumped back against the wall, glancing up at the ceiling. 

“Merry Christmas, by the way.” he offered nonchalantly. 

You turned to stare at him, surprised. “Christmas?” you asked numbly. 

“Useless presents, everyone drunk on eggnog, _Christmas?”_

“Yes, thank you for that.” You snapped, before adding forlornly “I just… didn’t know it was today.” 

The thought of Christmas made you think of home. _Home?_ Where even was home anymore? Was your apartment really a home at all? And you’d missed the company Christmas party, not that you'd wanted to go anyway. Were they worried about you, wondering where you were? You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw. _Probably not._ Your sister… she was surely in California, with her husband and their massive family. You wondered what her reaction was when the police called her, if they’d called her at all. 

You were on your own. Nobody would be missing you this Christmas, and you could only blame yourself. 

“I’m going to start collecting your tears. I could have a small pond in the backyard, get some saltwater fish to live in it.” 

Your eyes shot open and you quickly wiped your cheeks, face burning with emotion and embarrassment. “You really know how to make a girl feel better, Arthur.” You muttered, refusing to look at him. You crawled out of the bed, closed yourself in the bathroom and took a moment to collect yourself. Splashing water on your face, you took a deep breath and stepped back out, leaning against the steel bars. 

He cleared his throat and you could feel his eyes. “I saw you go through withdrawals. Enough of it, at least. You’re better off. You don’t need any of it; not the oxycodone – oh sorry, _headache pills,_ as you liked to call them. And you definitely don’t need the Celexa.”

You scoff, shooting him a narrow-eyed glare. “Oh, you’re so right Arthur, I’ve been meaning to thank you. Thank you so much, the withdrawals were just _wonderful.”_

He lit a cigarette, blowing smoke and shaking his head with a grin. “I did you a favor, darling. All that shit’s good for is making you feel like hell. Your brain gets all fuzzy. You need to realize how freeing it is to let go, and accept yourself for who you really are.”

You snickered heatedly. “Oh yeah, the way _you’ve_ accepted yourself? Look how that’s turned out.”

He was standing in an instant. You turned his direction, your cheek pressed against one of the bars. With a few strides he was mere inches away, his eyes menacing and dark. You held his gaze, refusing to back down or give him a reaction. 

He was near enough for you to smell the cigarettes and a hint of mint, and you could finally see his eyes up close - that familiar sea of green. He seemed confused, your lack of fear obviously as surprising to him as it was to you. His hand on your face startled you but you didn’t pull away, dazed by his unexpected gentleness. His fingers traced along your cheek, his eyes studying you intensely. Your eyelids fluttered closed, for a moment seeing Arthur.

Your chest grew tight, his touch eliciting so many memories. He wiped away the tears that had begun to fall, running his thumb along your bottom lip as it trembled. 

“I have accepted myself, Brooke. I know who I really am now. And I don’t regret a single second of it. _Any of it.”_ He confirmed. You clenched your eyes shut tighter, wishing you could block him out. Wishing you could exist in some other time, some other place. A time and place where you’d met him soon enough to stop all of this.

He chuckled quietly. “My, my…You really haven’t let go, have you? It’s even worse than I thought; one touch and you’re melting into a puddle on the floor.”

Your eyes still shut tight, you opened your mouth to argue and defend yourself. But his hand cupping your jaw was too distracting. 

“Why are you still in Gotham, Brooke. Why didn’t you leave.” 

“I…” you struggle to catch your breath. “I do plan to leave, I just don’t have the resources yet.”

His laugh rang in your ears. “Darling, it’s been two years. You could’ve left anytime - saved up money for a few weeks, packed your bags, and voila. You have a car, for fucks sake. So, tell me - _why_ are you still here?”

“I…it’s not that… there’s more to it than that…” you mutter. You’d never realized how irrational it was until hearing it out loud. In all honesty, you couldn’t think of any logical reason for staying. 

“It’s truly a miracle you performed so well in that faux interrogation, you might be the worst liar I’ve ever seen. Brooke…” he brushed his thumb over your eyebrow, and you finally forced yourself to open your eyes. He was unnervingly close. 

Desperate to take the heat off yourself, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Why’d you leave the file?”

His brow furrowed, he pulled his hand away. Part of you wanted to grab it and press it against your skin again. “What file?” He asked.

“The Arkham file. Your mother’s file. You left it and your apartment key at my door, before...Murray. Why?” it was a question you’d wanted to ask for two years. 

Understanding dawned on him, and he rolled his head back as if frustrated by the memory. 

“I’ve just always wondered. Was that… was that Arthur, or was it…” you couldn’t bring yourself to say the name.

He exhaled in annoyance. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it does.” When he was silent, you continued. “Some part of you was still Arthur. Some part of you was reaching out, crying for help. You wanted me to see her file, wanted to make sure I believed everything you’d told me. Why did it matter to you?”

“It didn’t, Brooke. It didn’t matter then and it doesn’t matter now. It was a momentary lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness before I realized my full potential. Before I realized who I truly am.” His eyes were stone cold, emotionless. 

“I found the note.” You saw a flicker of curiosity and continued. “Please, remember me. That’s what _you_ wrote.” He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to cut you off, but you quickly continued. “Look, you can tell me whatever you want. Tell me you’re stone-cold, heartless, that you have no regrets, that you believe your murders are justified, that you’ve accepted yourself. I don’t believe any of it.” You motioned to his outfit. “And laugh all you want, tease me, the poor _emotional_ girl that just couldn’t move on. You _asked_ me to remember you, so forgive me for doing exactly what _you_ requested.” 

He was silent for a moment, before stepping as close as he could. You could feel his breath against your lips, your fingertips tingling. 

“I have no regrets, Brooke. If I had any, it would be leaving you that fucking note. As for the rest of it? I’ve enjoyed every single fucking _second_ of it. Killing Murray was the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

You could tell he was trying to threaten you, scare you away. “_I. Don’t. Believe. You._ And I’m not scared of you.” 

You jumped when he suddenly stuck a hand between the steel bars, gripping the back of your head and slightly pulling on your hair. He bit your bottom lip, hard enough to make you yelp in surprise. Your cry was instantly muffled when he pressed you close and sealed his lips against yours. You whimpered, your body melting against him as your eyes closed. 

He licked the seam of your lips, his tongue demanding access as he deepened the kiss. He tasted like smoke and mint, and you whimpered against him helplessly. His hand tightened in your hair, his other wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against the steel bars. 

For a moment, he was here with you. Arthur was pulling you close, eager to kiss you. 

You were breathless when he pulled away, but cried out in shock when his grip in your hair tightened to the point of pain. Your eyes flashed open, the glimpse of Arthur washed away in a river of red, white and blue paint. His eyes were swirling, his expression unreadable. 

“I’ve killed people Brooke. I’ve stared into their faces and felt _nothing_ for them as I watched their life drain away.”

One hand still in your hair, his other moved up your hip. You tensed as his fingertips brushed up your torso, between your breasts, and wrapped around your throat. Your eyes widened, conflicting emotions paralyzing you.

“Do you understand me, Brooke? Because I don’t think you do.” You whimpered as his grip tightened around your throat, your hands reaching up to pull at his fingers. 

“Arthur, _please,_ what are you doing?” you cried, confusion wrecking your brain. Wasn’t he kissing you just seconds ago?

“I need you to believe me, to understand what I’m saying to you. I love who I am now, Brooke. I’ve embraced myself. And I’ve found quite a few people who appreciate me. Civilization is a dying breed, Brooke. It’s eating itself alive, like it tried to eat me alive, the way it's eating _you_ alive. I’m just ahead of the curve. I wrote you that note in a momentary lapse of weakness, and that’s _all_ it was.” The hand gripping your hair slowly let go, moving to trace your jaw and the outline of your mouth. He giggled, biting his lip. “For someone claiming to not be afraid of me darling, you’re trembling.” 

His fingers were still digging into the sides of your throat, your lungs beginning to burn as you struggled to loosen his grip. He was surprisingly unfazed, stronger than you’d expected. He laughed again, shaking his head and grinning from ear to ear. 

Suddenly air rushed into your lungs and you collapsed against the cold steel in front of you. You lifted a hand and gingerly touched your neck, taking a few deep breaths as your head continued to spin. 

By the time you looked up, he was gone and the door was closing behind him. 

***

You weren’t sure how much time passed. A few nights after your disastrous Christmas, you were startled awake by what you thought was gunshots. It didn't take long to realize it was fireworks, bright flashes of color filling the room. It must be New Years Eve. You were too far away from the windows to see them of course, but could picture it in your mind. They didn’t last for very long, and silence took over far too soon.

Weeks passed, and you became so desperate for stimulation that you started working out. You read books that Shithead brought you, ate food, slept, worked out, played card games with yourself... _anything_ to fill the time. 

One day, Shithead pulled the chair from the desk up to your room. You’d watched him suspiciously from your bed, waiting for him to give you bad news of some sort. Instead, he lit a cigarette. “So, Sunshine, where you from?” 

You talked for over an hour - about your life before Gotham, where he’d grown up, how he ended up here. He was surprisingly funny, and you found yourself grateful to have a conversation with someone other than yourself or Arthur.

When you ran out of ways to keep yourself busy, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. You tried not to, you really did. You wanted to forget all about him, erase him from your memory. He’d hurt you, left bruises on your neck that had taken days to disappear. He’d scared you, shaken you to your core. 

And yet... he’d also gently caressed your face, brushing away your tears. He’d pulled you close and kissed you so intensely that just thinking about it sent shivers down your spine. His mouth had fit so perfectly against yours, just like it did years ago. _“My, my…You really haven’t let go, have you? It’s even worse than I thought; one touch and you’re melting into a puddle on the floor.”_ The idea that he might be right terrified you beyond belief.


	6. Let's Call it Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur continues to wreak havoc on Brooke mentally, emotionally... and physically.

Weeks had passed when you saw him again. You woke up to pitch black, probably the middle of the night. You relaxed back onto the pillow before a sound made you jolt upright, and you noticed a shape at the desk. There was hardly any moonlight coming in through the windows, but it didn’t matter; you knew exactly who it was. 

“What are you doing here, Arthur.” You asked timidly, turning on the bed to face his direction. He was obscured by shadows, but you could see his feet up on the desk, casually crossed at the ankles. A lit cigarette came into view, a puff of smoke following soon after. 

“I have a theory.” You were unsure if he wanted a response from you or not, but then he continued. “For whatever fucked up reason, you feel responsible for what happened. That’s why you’re still here, that’s why you haven’t let go.” His words hung in the air, mingling with the billowing smoke. His voice was raspy, casual, lazy.

You cleared your throat, wanting to answer him honestly but worried you were skating on thin ice. His last visit had proven to you just how unpredictable he was. You took a moment to reflect on everything that happened years ago, the overwhelming helplessness you’d felt back then. 

“I… yes, I do feel responsible.” You could feel his eyes on you in the darkness, the heaviness of his stare. You tried to put your thoughts into words, overwhelmed. “I think I could have stopped it all from happening if I’d met you sooner. I think I should have recognized the warning signs, the red flags. The way you changed. I think…” you paused, a pang of regret crushing your chest. “I think I failed you. I think you needed love and affection and I was just a little bit too late. I was so focused on my own happiness, I saw what I _wanted_ to see instead of reality. If I’d caught on sooner and gotten you help.. or told you how I felt about you sooner...”

You’d never voiced any of this. Ever. You tried not to think about it, let alone talk about it. The heavy silence that followed felt like a 500-pound weight resting on your shoulders. 

“So now you refuse to let yourself be happy. You live in this godforsaken city even though it’s crumbling around you, work a shitty job and live a boring existence. It’s revenge against yourself, for _failing_ me, or whatever you want to call it. It’s so perverse and fucked up, I’m actually sorta proud.” He chuckled. “You could just let go of everything, Brooke. Enjoy life, the way I do. Life’s a joke, you just need to learn to laugh.”

The words hurt, your brow furrowed defensively. “I… I don’t… you’re completely off base, Arthur… I…” you struggled, the words catching in your throat. He was dead wrong about all of it, you were just too flustered to create an argument. 

You could hear his fingers tapping against the desk as he took another drag. “I don’t need you to fix me, Brooke. I didn’t need it then, and I certainly don’t need it now.”

“I’m not!” you blurted out, feeling your voice waver. “I’m…not trying to fix you. Trust me, I gave that up a long time ago. I know…” you choked up, each word more painful than the last. “I know… the real Arthur died, a long time ago. You’ve been too far gone for years.”

The stillness was broken when he brought his feet off the desk, standing up with the lit cigarette in one hand. Anticipation built as he walked toward your room, his features slowly coming into view. Something was…off. You squinted, leaning forward. He came within a step of the steel bars, and your heart skipped a beat. His face was makeup free, his genuine features visible for the first time. Your vision blurred, tears filling your eyes as you stared, spellbound. 

He smiled and held his arms out to his sides, as if presenting himself to you. “Arthur never died, sweetheart. You’re looking right at him.” He spun around, still wearing the red suit. He laughed, taking a long drag. You studied him, realizing how different he looked. He’d filled out a bit; his sunken cheeks looked plumper, and the bags under his eyes less noticeable. 

“This is the real Arthur, darling. He was just suppressed by the system, the doctors, the medications, the _rules_ of this _civilized_ society. I’m Arthur, the same Arthur from your memories. Just a freer, happier version. My life is a comedy now, darling. I’ve never been better.”

You couldn’t speak, lost for words. You sat in silence, trying to sort out your thoughts. Your brain was simply...numb.

He tucked the cigarette back between his teeth, suddenly reaching into his suit. He pulled something out, a piece of paper, and quickly unfolded it. He held it up and you gasped. It was your sketch.

“Found this hanging on your wall. It gave me a good laugh.”

You closed your eyes, not wanting to look at him. “H-how… how did you get that.” 

“From your apartment, Brooke. I found a whole box of interesting stuff. My shirt, the Murray show, all kinds of exciting stuff.”

Panic rose in your chest, knowing he was laughing at you, laughing at the items that were so precious to you. Knowing that he’d invaded your space in such an insensitive way. “Arthur…how did you get in my apartment. How do you even know where I live?”

He laughed as if your question was ridiculous. “I’ve always known where you live. Kept tabs on you - you’re not as good at being invisible as you think you are.” His voice was teasing, and your cheeks heated with embarrassment. 

“Why?” it was the only word you could muster. 

He chuckled, leaning his head back and blowing smoke. “Let’s call it… curiosity.” He looked back down, to the sketch. He shook his head, smirking. “Oh, Brooke. Life could be so much easier if you’d just let go.”

His smug attitude finally made you snap. The plethora of emotions welling up within you focused into one: anger. “You keep _saying_ that, that I haven’t let go, that I need to let go. You’re acting so…superior, like you’re soooo far beyond me. Okay, Arthur, so _why_ have you been keeping tabs on me for the past two years? Why am I _here?!_ It’s absolute bullshit, Tench getting information out of me. I wouldn’t have anything to give him, and you know it! I haven’t talked to you in years, I don’t know anything about you now. So why have I been locked in this fucking room for _months?_ Why am I _still here?”_

His eyes blazed in the darkness. “You could be dead right now; would you prefer that? I should have just killed you, it would have made my life a whole lot easier.”

He paused, laughing hard enough that you flashed back to his painful fit of laughter when you first met. He pulled himself together quickly however, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I just had a funny thought.” You watched him reach into a pocket, and your heart stopped when a small flame cast shadows across his face. 

“Arthur, what are you…”

He held up the sketch for you to see, bringing the lighter terrifyingly close. 

“_NO!”_ within a split second, you were off the bed. You crashed into the steel bars desperately reaching for the sketch, but it was just out of reach. It hurt to look at… everything about it was relaxing and peaceful, a stark contrast to your current situation. You sank to your knees on the floor, defeated. “Please, please Arthur. Please don’t destroy it, I’m begging you, don’t do this to me.”

“_Why_ do you care so much? Why can’t you just _let go?!”_ He was yelling, his voice cracking and his tone threatening. 

“Because I _loved_ you. I loved the Arthur you used to be! It was the first time in _years_ that I felt truly happy, like someone really cared about me. I can’t lose that, please don’t take it away from me.” you gripped the cold steel and pressed your forehead against it, heaving sobs wracking through you. 

He laughed coldly, pushing the figurative dagger further into your chest. “I don’t think that’s it at all. It’s not love that’s got you trapped, Brooke. It’s guilt. You’ve wasted all this time, feeling guilty over something that had absolutely _nothing_ to do with you.”

And there it was, the rest of the dagger. You were bleeding out on the floor in front of him, and he was laughing. It all hurt too much. Clenching your jaw, you carefully stood to your feet. Refusing to look at him, you turned and sat with your legs folded beneath you on the bed. The tears stopped, and you stared blankly at the wall. 

He giggled behind you. “Oh dear, I must have struck a nerve.” 

Chills travelled up your spine at the sound of the gate being unlocked. Your eyes wide, you listened to his footsteps grow closer. He was inside your room. _He was inside your room._

His footsteps came to a stop right behind you. You tried not to tremble, not wanting him to know how his nearness affected you. You were suddenly agonizingly aware of your clothes; you were wearing a large, thin t-shirt with no bra, and a tiny pair of cotton shorts. Your skin prickled everywhere, every nerve of your body aware of him. 

The silence was eerie, and you forced yourself to break it. “How can you say it had nothing to do with me? I let you in, Arthur, I _never_ let _anyone_ in. I thought we understood each other. I fell in love with you. I…I even thought you might’ve felt the same way.” You laughed bitterly at your own foolishness. “And then…everything happened so fast, and I wanted to help so badly…but by the time I knew the truth…” 

You felt the bed shift slightly beneath you, as if he was leaning against it. You closed your eyes and fought to control yourself as he moved your hair to one side. His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your back and shoulders, and that was all it took. You trembled uncontrollably, overcome with every emotion in the book. 

He chuckled lightly, his voice shockingly close. “You couldn’t have stopped it, nothing could’ve.” You felt him climb onto the bed, his hands running up your arms as he softly bit at the side of your throat. “So just let go.”

His fingertips followed your collarbone, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he kissed up the side of your throat and beneath your ear. Your body was electrified, every single part of you alive. You let out a shaky breath when he nibbled and sucked on your ear, his fingers rising to your jaw. His other hand slipped around and pressed against your ribs, just below your chest. 

Heat instantly pooled between your legs and you whimpered, eyes clenched shut and mouth slightly ajar. Heat enveloped your back as he pressed his chest into you. Your ankles were tingling and numb from your weight resting on them, but you hardly noticed. His legs trapped your own as he knelt around you, bright red fabric contrasted against your pale skin, his warmth encompassing you. He pressed you back against him and rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling into you and breathing deeply. 

“You should be afraid of me, Brooke.” He murmured. Your head fell back, a confused moan escaping your lips. He was right. A fire was raging within your body, and yet it felt so wrong. It felt wrong, didn’t it? Your thoughts were interrupted by his lips taking advantage of the easy access to your throat. He pressed open mouthed kisses to your pulse, his hot tongue tasting you before he gently bit and sucked. 

“Oh god.” You whispered. He caressed your torso and hips, and you almost leapt out of your skin when his hands slipped beneath the loose material of your shirt. You pulled away from his shockingly cold touch, which only served to crush you against him even more. 

You moaned at the feeling of his heat against your lower back, lust short-circuiting your brain. He dragged his fingertips up the sensitive skin of your stomach, your body quivering as he stopped right between your breasts. He nuzzled into the side of your face, kissing your jaw. “Ask me.” 

His low voice startled you, and your eyes fluttered open. “what?” you whispered, feeling slightly panicked. 

“_Ask me._” He repeated, drawing teasing circles against your breastbone. 

“I… can’t…” you cried, focusing your eyes on the wall and trying to regain control. He licked up your jaw, nipping at you. 

“Yes, you can. Just ask.” He assured you, his other hand resting against the soft skin just above your shorts.

You realized you were completely at his will, putty in his hands. He could do anything to you in this moment, just as long as his heat didn’t leave you and he kept touching you. Gulping down your pride, you tried to let the words roll off your tongue. “P-please…please, just…” 

His hand moved tantalizingly close to your right breast, and the words caught in your throat. “Please what, kitten?” he probed. 

“Please… touch me. _Please_.” You begged, finally breaking as tears wet your cheeks. 

“That’s it, kitten.” He chuckled against your skin, and you exhaled in relief when his hand finally enclosed around the sensitive flesh. His rough palm against your nipple was too much, and you cried out. “Let out all those dirty noises, darling. I want to hear you.” His words were muffled against your skin. He gently pinched your sensitive peak, eliciting more noises from your lips that you didn’t recognize. 

He bit down on the skin between your neck and shoulder, and you subconsciously rolled your hips. He laughed playfully, “someone’s eager.” You couldn’t respond, couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling of him pressed against your lower back, growing harder with each passing moment. You desperately wanted to grind against him, your body aching for any kind of friction. 

“How long has it been, sweetheart? How long since you’ve been touched?” he was massaging you gently, switching to give the left breast equal attention. Heat rose to your cheeks, a mixture of lust and embarrassment. “How long?” he repeated, his words hot against your ear. 

You bit your lip, tears of frustration streaming down your face. His hand stilled against you, punishment for your lack of response. “Two…two years.” You finally choked out painfully. 

He remained still, the room silent aside from your heaving breaths. You waited for the questions, for the teasing. Instead, his hand squeezed against you and you sighed in relief as he continued exploring you. You whimpered when the hand near your shorts reminded you of its presence, drawing shapes along your thighs. 

You looked down, watching him brush so closely to where you were pulsing with nearly painful desperation. He pinched a nipple hard, and you cried out as he continued to suck marks into your skin. Suddenly his hand was cupping you over the shorts, and you bit your lip as your hips rolled on their own accord. 

The heat of his hand was unbearable. The only hand that had been down there for the past two years was your own, and even that happened once in a blue moon; your sex drive had been practically nonexistent. You could feel how wet you were, and you knew he could feel it too.

His nose nudged into your hair, his breath hot against your cheek. “You’re absolutely soaked.” You whimpered at his words, grinding down onto his hand. “Let me take care of you, kitten. Let me give you what you need.” 

His voice, saying those words, was more than you could handle. “Please” you begged. He pulled your shorts to one side, exposing you to the cold air. He wasted no time, and your eyes rolled back as he stroked your folds confidently. 

“No underwear I see. I must admit, I’m surprised.” 

You wanted to respond, think of something witty. But his fingers tracing your labia was all you could focus on, the only thing that existed. He pressed two fingers to your center, working you slowly and skillfully avoiding the bundle of nerves that was crying for attention. You bit your lip, your gaze refocusing to watch him explore. It felt like a fever dream, one you didn’t ever want to wake up from. His fingers found your entrance and caressed it, a guttural cry erupting from your chest. 

The hand left your breasts, much to your disappointment, and rose to your jaw. He turned you toward him, forcing you to look away from his handiwork below and into his eyes. They were familiar yet unrecognizable all at once, dangerous yet gentle in the most captivating way. You were kissing him instantly, lifting a hand to grip onto his hair. He gave it right back to you, pressing his lips against yours heatedly. 

All at once, he pressed two fingers into your tight heat and his thumb against your clit. Your mouth fell open as you keened against his lips, your back arching. He ushered you back to his mouth, boldly deepening the kiss. He pulled his fingers out nearly all the way, and you cried into his mouth at the intense sensation. His thumb circled your clit with a gentleness, never quite giving you enough. His fingers surged back in, the stretch almost unbearable. “Christ, you’re tight. How did I ever fit, kitten?” 

His words elicited another gush of wetness, coating his fingers and helping him start up a rhythm. His lips pulled away, his free hand lifting your shirt up. You raised your arms to assist him, his fingers never stopping all the while. He pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it across the room, instantly pressing your lips back to his. His fingers curled inside you, and you were lightheaded with pleasure. 

His thumb finally settled directly on the bundle of nerves, his fingers surging deeper and curling repeatedly. His other hand kneaded each breast in turn, feeling their weight and pinching your nipples just hard enough. He readjusted you carefully, holding you close, and you sighed with pleasure as his massive erection settled between the globes of your ass. You rolled your hips, riding his fingers and loving that you could feel his body reacting to you, knowing he was just as affected.

“You’re so wet, sweetheart. So warm and tight.”

You whined against his lips when he added a third finger, your inner muscles clenching forcefully. You broke the kiss, throwing your head back against his shoulder, unable to stop yourself from crying out. “Oh god, please don’t stop. I’m…” 

He pressed against your clit and g-spot, thrusting his hips slightly so you could feel exactly what you were doing to him. “That’s it, Brooke. Let go. Just let it go.” He bit your exposed pulse, and that was all it took. White-hot heat seared through every inch of your body, and you struggled to breathe as you clenched uncontrollably around his fingers. He stilled his hand, allowing you to ride out the orgasm against him. “That’s it… just like that, sweetheart.” He flicked your nipple gently, laving kisses across your neck and shoulders as you panted against him. 

“Oh my god.” You whimpered, over and over again. As the electric current buzzing through your veins began to fade, you collapsed against him. His fingers pulled away, and you groaned in protest. You watched through hooded eyes as he lifted his hand, stared straight at you, and licked each finger in turn. The final aftershocks were still hitting you, your body quickly going limp with exhaustion.

Your head fell to the side against his chest, your eyes closing as you struggled to breath properly. He cupped your jaw with a tenderness that shook you to your core, tilting you upward and bringing his lips down onto yours. He deepened the kiss briefly, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. Your eyes grew wet, your body and mind completely shattered. You could feel yourself fading quickly. 

“W-what… Arthur… why…” you mumbled, overwhelmed.

“Let’s call it curiosity.” his response was quiet, distant. You barely heard it as you surrendered to the best sleep you’d had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... So I got a lil' carried away with this chapter. Things are going to start heating up, if that's not already obvious. I'm trying to recover from a disastrous Christmas so smut is my coping mechanism of choice


	7. Like a Painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker drops by for a visit, covered in blood.

You pulled the covers up to your chin, yawning into the pillow. Your eyes shot open when it all came back to you, every second of it. Was it a dream? It must have been a dream. You sat up, startled by the realization that your torso was completely naked. 

“No… no, no…” you muttered, putting the sheets up to cover yourself. You always slept with an oversized t-shirt, _always_. It was all real. 

But now he was gone, without a trace. You pulled your knees to your chin and lifted a hand to rest over your mouth. You replayed all of it. He’d been cruel and offensive, almost burning the sketch, angry at you for caring. He’d been so unbelievably coldhearted. 

And then… you shuddered, the memory of his touch sending tingles down your spine. You’d been so hurt by everything he’d said and done, and yet you’d never been more turned on. 

What the fuck was wrong with you? This man had you locked up in a room, viciously interrogated, belittled you endlessly, choked you, and generally acted as if he didn’t give two shits about you. He’d turned your brain into mush, pushing you in so many directions that you didn’t know which way was up anymore. You were so sick and tired of trying to figure out what his intentions were, trying to keep up with his unpredictability. You could never tell if he was going to kiss you, or kill you. 

_Fuck._ He’d been so… sensual, played your body like a fiddle. You bit your lip at the heat rising in your core, the memory enough to get you worked up. You stretched back out on the bed, yanking the sheets over your head and screaming into the pillow. You were still hiding under the bedding when Shithead came in with your food. 

“Good morning Sunshine, you must have slept well.” 

You pulled the bedding down just enough to glare at him, mindful that you were still naked. “Why do you say that?” you demanded heatedly. 

He recoiled in feign offense, rolling his eyes. “It’s almost four in the afternoon. I stared at the security footage for fifteen minutes this morning, waiting for signs of life.”

You groaned, crushing your hands against your temples. Ok, so Shithead didn’t seem to know about last night at all. You’d convinced yourself that Arthur would gloat to all his men, but maybe he hadn’t. “Well I’m glad I was able to offer up some entertainment. Is that all you do for twenty-four hours? Do you get paid to watch me wallow in misery?” 

He snorted. “Only when counting sheep doesn’t work – your life is the ultimate sleep aid.” He stuck his tongue out when you shot him a dirty look. His laughing slowed, and he glanced down to the ground. “No, I don’t watch you all the time. We were watching you a lot in the beginning, but that was mostly to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself during the withdrawals.” He cleared his throat, shrugging a shoulder as he glanced back up at you. “It really is just a security camera. This place is pretty safe, but you never know. Anything can happen. I just glance at the camera every now and then to make sure nothing’s wrong, that’s all.” 

You offered him a grateful smile, feeling slightly more at ease. Tears filled your eyes and you laughed with embarrassment, shaking your head. “How long am I going to be here, Shithead?” you forced yourself to look up at him.

His eyes were strikingly sincere as he thought for a long moment. “I don’t know, Sunshine. I wish I could tell you.” 

You closed your eyes, nodding your head in acceptance. You weren’t mad at him. He was the only person here that had shown you anything resembling sympathy. You knew he didn’t make the calls around here. “That’s ok.” You offered simply, eyes still closed. You couldn’t look at him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sunshine.” He called, and the door closed. 

Left alone once again, you pulled on your shirt and forced yourself to eat. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, no matter how hard you tried. The way he’d surrounded you, the feeling of his body pressed against yours. The way he’d touched you, explored you. There hadn’t been an ounce of shyness, every move made with absolute confidence.

It was so different from the Arthur you’d known. He’d looked to you for guidance, unsure and worried that he wouldn’t know how to please you. It had been the sweetest night of your entire life. 

How could this be the same man? Was he right, is this who he’d been all along beneath the medications? What you’d always seen as destruction, he clearly saw as an awakening. Maybe the truth was somewhere in the middle. 

*** 2 Days Later *** 

You’d just finished showering when the main door opened. You rolled your eyes, tightening the towel wrapped around you. “A little privacy here, please.” You shook your head, picking up a shirt from the pile of clean clothes on your floor. “There is such a thing as knocking.” You muttered bitterly. 

Footsteps approached, and the sound of the door to your room unlocking made you jump. “Hey!” You yelled, quickly turning and preparing to punch Shithead in the face. 

You gasped in shock at the sight of Arthur standing in the open door, in full suit and makeup. He was covered in blood. Red was spattered across his face, in his hair, his suit jacket. 

You instantly backed away, holding the towel tightly and feeling your pulse race. He was staring at you, just… staring. “Arthur… what the fuck…” 

You covered your mouth, horrified by the blood. He stepped toward you, and soon you felt the cold wall in the back of the room against your skin. He kept coming, his expression unreadable. His hands settled against the wall on either side of you. He said nothing, simply studied you until his eyes settled on the towel. He hardly blinked, his stillness unsettling. 

“A-Arthur… are you alright?” the blood… was it his? “Are you hurt?”

He was unresponsive, staring directly at your cleavage. You gulped, terrified of the question you had to ask. “Arthur…did you kill someone?”

His eyes darted up to yours, a smirk stretching his painted lips. He stepped closer until your bodies were nearly touching, his hot breath hitting your throat as he leaned in. “I killed far more than one.” He whispered, before breaking into a fit of giggles. 

You inhaled deeply, trying not to lose your composure. You could sense his swaying mental state, and needed to pull him back from the ledge before things got out of hand. “Ok Arthur, please sit down with me; I want to know what happened.” you started to move past him, toward the bed. 

He blocked you in, sighing deeply. “You know, Brooke, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

You stood still, not wanting to push him. Your eyes darted to the door in your peripheral vision: he’d left it open. You refocused on him quickly, nervous he would realize your intentions. “So why are you here then, if you don’t want to talk about it?” You needed to distract him, get him talking. 

He chuckled, moving a hand to your chin and holding you so you couldn’t look away. “I am here, kitten, because I want to fuck you. I want to rip this fucking towel in half and leave bite marks on every part of your body. I want you wet and eager beneath me, begging me to tear you apart. I want to fuck you until we both pass out, and then I want to wake up and start all over again.” Your jaw dropped, and he immediately traced your bottom lip. His stare was unwavering, every word a promise. Heat instantly settled in your core, wetness trickling down your inner thigh. 

His hand abandoned your lips to brush against the exposed skin of your thigh, tracing along the bottom edge of the towel. You quivered when he slipped beneath the fabric, inching closer to your center. He laughed, his stare still holding as he leaned in closer, his lips nearly touching yours. “You want it too, sweetheart - you’re dripping wet.”

You couldn’t hold back a whimper, his words pressing all the right buttons. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when a finger sank into your heat, catching you entirely off guard. “Oh _fuck._” You exclaimed, your head falling back against the wall. Your knees wobbled, and you instinctively clutched the lapels of his suit to keep from collapsing. 

He gave you no time to recover, a second finger immediately sinking inside you. You watched through a haze of pleasure as he bent down, now clutching his shoulders to stay balanced. He bit the top of the towel, and with one tug of his teeth the towel fell at your feet. 

Your cheeks flushed rapidly, your nipples tightening as he took in your naked form. He leaned in and kissed the center of your chest, his fingers continuing to drive you wild. His free hand caressed your hip, thigh, up to your stomach and finally closed around a breast. He tugged on the already hard nipple, your inner walls instantly clenching down on his fingers. 

“Delicious.” He murmured, trailing kisses across your chest before finally pressing his lips around the sensitive peak. You cried out, desperately wanting to throw your head back and close your eyes but unable to look away from him. His fingers curled inside you, his thumb circling your clit teasingly. “You’re so responsive, kitten.” His praise made you keen, your back arching off the wall and your hips thrusting against his hand. 

He licked and sucked at your nipple, massaging the other breast tenderly. You gripped at his hair, pressing him as close as possible. You groaned at the loss when he pulled away from you, your nipple excruciatingly tender. You gasped at the sight; your breasts were covered in red smudges, a mixture of makeup and blood. He kissed down your body, leaving a trail of red stains on your torso, and you watched helplessly as he sank to his knees in front of you. 

His fingers slowed, and you trembled as he watched them fuck in and out of you. He licked his lips before pressing a kiss to the top of your thigh as his eyes wandered. Your fingers tightened in his hair, every muscle in your body beginning to stiffen. Your eyes widened as he struggled to fit a third finger into your already snug channel. You gasped in relief when it finally slipped past the resistance, feeling overwhelmingly full. He increased his pace gradually, watching with smug satisfaction. 

“Poor kitten, you’ve been so neglected, haven’t you? I’m trying to loosen you up and it just won’t happen.” He pressed a kiss to your clit, and you shrieked as your vision blurred and you tossed your head back violently against the wall. “That’s alright though, I can’t wait to feel you stretch when I finally fuck you.” 

“Arthur!” You cried, moaning eagerly and tossing your head from side to side. He wrapped your legs around him, your weight settling fully on his shoulders. He sucked your clit into his mouth, _hard._ His tongue stroked against it tirelessly, his teeth lightly nibbling. His fingers curled inside you, and it was all over. Your hips bucked wildly against him as he worked you through the orgasm, drawing it out as long as he could. His free hand was wrapped around your waist, keeping you steady. 

You sobbed from the overstimulation as his fingers began to slow, and he continued to press open-mouthed kisses to your clit. Your muscles wouldn’t stop clenching, his fingers so tight inside of you that it was euphoric. You were panting, sweat beading across your body despite your complete lack of clothing. Your death grip on his hair gradually loosened, your hands shaking as they fell weakly to your sides.

You groaned as he slowly removed his fingers and your muscles throbbed in the aftermath. He kissed your clit again, letting out a low moan against you. His tongue licked between your folds leisurely, the warmth of his mouth pure bliss against your relaxed muscles. “You’re like a painting.” He hummed against you.

You glanced down, eyes widening at your current state. You were covered in red paint, white paint, and…blood. It was on your chest, down your stomach, all over your hips and pubic bone. 

Panic began to rise in your chest and you shivered, suddenly cold. Lowering your feet to the floor, you leaned against the wall and tried to regain feeling in your limbs. He stood up, a sly grin and mischievous eyes pointed at you. His makeup was a disaster, half of it on your skin instead of his. The blood on his face and suit was smeared everywhere.

He raised a hand to your face and you flinched. He wiped at your mouth, and you suddenly recognized the taste of blood: It was probably all over your face. Your eyes grew wet and you swiftly bent down, securing the towel around you. You suddenly felt caged in, like the room was growing smaller. He studied you, reaching into his pocket and lighting a cigarette. 

“Why the sudden long face, kitten?” he blew smoke toward you, the smell instantly triggering an itch for a long drag. 

You turned your head to the side and bit your lip, looking at anything but him. 

“Oh, come on, the silent treatment? I can see the wheels turning sweetheart.”

“_Stop_… calling me that.” You blurted out. 

He giggled, moving to lean against the wall beside you. “Which one, kitten or sweetheart?” 

“_Both._” 

“I’ve made a lot of people mad for a lot of different reasons, but this is a first.” He teased, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before taking another drag. 

“Well, get used to it. You don’t get to call me terms of endearment. I know this is all just… a joke to you.” You folded your arms over your chest, wiping your nose. “It’s like you use affection to mock me. And I get it: you don’t care, everything is funny, _ha ha._ But I want… I want to hear those words from a person that loves me, not…_you._” You hiccupped, choking slightly as emotion rose in your throat. “I don’t even _know_ you.” You felt yourself losing control, and made a break for the bathroom. 

He stuck an arm out, stopping you in your tracks. “Where are you going?” he asked coolly. 

“Arthur, please let me go. I need to take another shower - I’m covered in paint… and the blood of the people you murdered. I just want to shower and I want you to leave.” Your voice wavered, your face still turned away from him. You could sense the breakdown coming, and were desperate to not cry in front of him. 

“You really aren’t trying to escape, are you?” he mused, his voice dipped in curiosity and bewilderment. You caught sight of the open gate in your peripheral, the open door that had seemed enticing not long before. You’d completely forgotten about it, a realization that made you chuckle bitterly. 

“And go where, back to my apartment? Back to the grocery store, back to Gotham? Back to my life, if I can even call it that? Nobody is waiting for me to come home, nobody is missing me. I don’t have anything to escape to.” 

Silence hung for a long moment, and suddenly he was dragging you toward him. You stiffened in confusion, his arm wrapping around you and his hand gently resting against your head. Soon his other hand was around you as well, and you were pressed tightly against him. 

The affection was startling, sending your emotions into overdrive. You hadn’t been hugged since… well, you couldn’t remember. His body was warm against you, his arms comforting and his chest firm. The stiffness of your limbs started to disappear, and you buried your face into his suit. Your arms came up to clutch him weakly, and his form caught you off guard. You could vividly remember his skinny, frail body… the sense that he might break in half at any moment. Now he was remarkably solid. 

You missed him. You’d missed him for two years. And now here you were, folded up in his arms, feeling his body heat. You knew he could feel you trembling, the tears falling freely when you couldn’t hold it in anymore. He didn’t do much else, just kept his arms around you and occasionally brushed his thumb against your hair. You forced the tears away after a few minutes, refusing to fall apart completely. 

You closed your eyes against him, wanting nothing more than to pull him onto your bed and beg him to stay. Instead you straightened and stepped away, wiping your nose and cheeks. He was still leaning against the wall, his expression as unreadable as ever. He lifted the still-lit cigarette and took a drag, waiting for your next move. 

You hesitantly met his gaze, wishing you could understand him. He was cruel and distant one minute and hugging you the next…You needed space. “I’m gonna take a shower. A _second shower_ no thanks to you.” You tried to tease him, lighten the mood.

The corner of his mouth barely lifted, his eyes penetrating. This time he let you go, and you could feel his gaze follow you until you finally closed the bathroom door. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, your jaw dropping in shock. It was even worse than you’d expected. You rushed into the shower, watching the water run red down your legs. 

You scrubbed with soap until your skin was raw, and even then you still felt dirty. You sat down on the shower floor, letting the water wash over you until it ran cold. Finally turning the water off, you wrapped up in a new towel and were relieved to see no trace of the mess left behind. 

You quietly opened the door, finding the room empty. He was gone, and the gate was locked once again. You dried off, slipping into clean clothes and huddling up on the bed. The silence and loneliness hit much harder than usual.


	8. That's Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Brooke shoot the shit

*** 3 Weeks Later ***

You hadn’t seen him since. Some improvements had been made, however. Shithead finally brought you a razor, and shaving gave you an odd sense of normalcy. He also brought you a sketchbook, with some fancy charcoal pencils. It wasn’t much, but sometimes it was the little things. You found yourself drawing landscapes, places you wanted to go someday. Beaches, mountains, islands, rivers, anything you could think of. You ached for a window, some way to see the outside world. This room had been your only scenery for months, and you could feel yourself starting to go insane. 

You jumped off the bed when the door opened and Shithead burst through it. “Oh my god, finally.” You whined, rushing to the steel bars. 

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Don’t be so dramatic, I wasn’t gone that long. Just be happy you have this at all, alright? Took a lot of convincing, so you’re welcome.”

He shoved the bag through the bars, watching you sit on the floor and tear into it. He pulled the chair over from the desk, plopping onto it. You unwrapped the burger like you hadn’t eaten in months. You took a massive bite, your eyes growing watery. It was like taking a bite out of heaven. Shithead shook his head, grinning as he watched. 

“Oh, almost forgot.” He handed you a bottle of coke and you instantly gulped down half of it. 

“You’re a godsend. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You stated without a hint of humor. He still laughed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He took out two and offered one to you. You took it gladly, figuring you would finish your burger first. 

“You’re gonna get a stomach cramp” he warned.

“One hundred percent worth it.” You confirmed, quickly inhaling the last bite. You licked your fingers, washing it all down with coke. You stuck out the cigarette, and he lit it for you. Taking a long drag, you closed your eyes, feeling content. 

“If Joker knew I was supplying you with contraband he’d kill me, you know.”

You shot him a puzzled look. “What do you mean, the burger or the cigarette?”

“The cigarette ya dummy.”

You shrugged. “I won’t say anything. Besides, I used to smoke so it’s nothing I haven’t done before. And it’s what, once every few days? I’ll be fine. Besides, he’s not one to talk. His lungs are probably mostly ash at this point.”

Shithead chortled, nodding in agreement. “You’re not wrong. Just don’t tell him, alright?”

You sighed. “I won’t, obviously.” You paused, taking a drag. “Why does it matter, Shithead? Why would he care?”

He looked a bit surprised by the question, and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I mean, I think he doesn’t want you hurting yourself, that’s all. Like with the pills, that kind of thing, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head. “No, I don’t know. Please explain it to me, because I want to understand. I can’t wrap my head around him, Shithead. One minute he’s cold and closed off, and the next…” you trailed off, avoiding going into detail. Shithead didn’t know about any of that, and you didn’t want him to. 

He sighed, exhaling smoke. “Look, when you first got here, and you were going through withdrawals? A few of the guys were convinced that you were dying. They said they were gonna go get pills for you, but he refused, telling them to forget about it. He said it would pass within a few days, and it wasn’t worth the trouble.”

You shook your head, brow furrowing. “Jackass.” You muttered. 

“No, no, you’re not getting it.” Shithead leant forward in the chair, and you could tell he wasn’t sure of his next words. “Look, the boss is brutal. He has been for as long as I’ve been a part of this operation. But I don’t think he was trying to be cruel to you, I think he genuinely thought it was the best thing for you. I think the _not worth the trouble_ act was just a bullshit excuse, he just didn’t want to be honest in front of us.” He shot you a pointed look, and you felt frozen in place. “I don’t know what your deal is with the boss. He doesn’t talk about it, and if anyone asks questions about you he ignores them. But I don’t think he’s out to get you, trying to find ways to torture you and make your life miserable while you’re here.”

You scoffed, wishing you could explain how wrong he was. He glanced at his watch, quickly standing up and setting the chair back at the desk before turning back to you. “I gotta go Sunshine, duty calls.” 

He turned to leave, and you called after him. “Thanks for the contraband.”

He shot you a playful smile before disappearing out the door. You scooted across the floor, leaning your back against the wall as your finished the cigarette. You mulled over Shithead’s words, only feeling more confused. You were no closer to understanding Arthur’s intentions.

So instead, you worked out. You did push-ups and sit-ups until your body collapsed, until sweat was dripping onto the floor. You tried to work out every ounce of aggression, every bit of stress that constantly ate at your insides. Then you turned the shower to the hottest it could go, letting steam fill the room until you started to feel lightheaded. 

You dried off, slipped on sweatpants and a t-shirt and opened the bathroom door. You climbed onto the bed, exhausted. It was still light out, but you were ready to collapse. You were preparing to do just that when you caught sight of Arthur, sitting right outside the steel bars. You jumped, caught off guard more than you cared to admit. “Ok, what the fuck Arthur?!” 

He didn’t flinch, just sat and watched you. Your gaze narrowed warily, and you waited for him to explain himself.

“It’s been a long few weeks.” He stated simply. Your lips pursed, unsure how to respond. “A few men really fucked up the bank job. I had it planned perfectly, they just needed to follow my instructions exactly.” He looked at you, as if expecting you to contribute.

You shook your head in bewilderment. “Is this what we’re doing now, having casual conversations? Shootin’ the shit?” you demanded.

A blue eyebrow shot toward the ceiling. “What do you mean?”

You laughed resentfully. “I mean, I don’t _get_ you Arthur. I can’t keep track. Some days you come in here and look like you want to kill me, sometimes you seem to want to hurt me because it makes you laugh, other times you kiss me and tell me you want to fuck me. I just want to know which Arthur I’m getting today, that’s all.” 

He grinned, letting out a giggle. “I like to keep people on their toes, sweetheart. It’s part of my charm.”

You clenched your jaw, not in the mood to be the butt of his jokes today. 

He silently puffed on his cigarette, watching you with curiosity. “You’re not so easy to figure out yourself, you know.”

You looked at him like he was crazy. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

He shrugged, pointing the cigarette toward you. “You look at me like you hate me. You spit on me, scream at me, claim to want out of here. And yet you had the opportunity a few weeks ago, the gate wide open. And you didn’t take it. You refuse to call me Joker, even though you’re the only person on this planet that still calls me Arthur. You’re a puzzle to me and I’m a puzzle to you.” 

You sigh, looking down at the bed. “It wasn’t this way before. Things were so easy.”

“See, there you go again. You get all mushy when you talk about the past.” 

You shot him a poisonous look. “Don’t you dare. I know things weren’t perfect before, but we at least understood each other. You were a sweet man that couldn’t believe I would ask him to get a cup of coffee. When I rubbed your back while you had a laugh attack outside the pharmacy, you jumped like I was the first person to touch you in years. I couldn’t wait for you to show up at the grill, just so I could see you again. I get _mushy_ about it because I was in love. You would hug me, and kiss me, and things were so easy.”

“For you. They were easy for _you,_ Brooke. You’re seeing things through rose colored glasses.” He interjected. 

“I know that things weren’t actually perfect. I understand that things were happening to you behind the scenes, things that I didn’t know about. And like I’ve told you, I wish I’d found out sooner. But for a time, we were happy. You might deny it, but I can’t.”

He glared at your furiously. “I get it, you were happy, and I fucked it up for you. I got beat up, and fired from my job, and found out I was adopted. I painted my face and shot a man on television, and ruined everything. Do you want me to apologize, Brooke?”

You shook your head violently, climbed off the bed and sat down against the steel bars. You’d never thought of it that way, never realized he felt like you blamed him. “No, Arthur I’m so sorry if that’s how I’m coming across, that’s not how I mean it at all. Look... You scare me, alright? You’re unpredictable, and I can’t figure you out. It’s hard for me to be around... Joker...” you winced, the word tasted like poison on your lips. “It’s just difficult for me to be around you, the person you are now, knowing what you were like before all of this.” You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “You had horrible things happen to you, Arthur. Things I can’t even imagine going through. I don’t mean to make you feel responsible for that, none of that is your fault.” 

You closed your eyes, struggling to put your thoughts in order. “I wish I could’ve…absorbed the pain from you. You turned yourself into a different person to cope with that pain, and I don’t blame you for it at all. How could I? I just… I fell in love with you Arthur, and then you changed. It’s as simple as that. I don’t blame you for it, it’s just…what happened. And now we are completely different people, living completely different lives. I’m a puzzle to you, you’re a puzzle to me. We don’t understand each other anymore, and that’s alright. That’s life, right?”

You forced your eyes open, looking at him. He looked slightly flustered, his cigarette now on the floor. “That’s life.” He mumbled. 

You bit your lip, looking down at his clothes. The bright red suit, the yellow vest. “Does it really make you happy?” You studied his lopsided, painted smile. 

He almost hesitated, his eye twitching. “Yeah, it does.” He looked down at his lap.

You did your best to smile. “That’s good. I know things weren’t easy for you, and I’m sorry if I’ve come across as insensitive. I get caught up in nostalgia, and I understand that you’ve moved forward and I’m just… glad that you’re happy.” 

He was silent for a long moment, then reached in his pocket. He brought out his pack of cigarettes, and you were surprised to see him pull out two. He bent forward, offering one. You took it, hesitantly, watching him suspiciously. 

“I know that little shit has been sneaking them for you, so don’t even start.”

You couldn’t help it, the giggle bursting through your lips. He grinned, shaking his head. You leaned into the space between the bars, his hand coming close to light it for you. You watched his fingers grip the lighter, watched the flame flicker. 

You took a long drag, eager for the sensation. You both exhaled at the same time, smoke filling the space between you. He stayed until you both finished your cigarettes, sitting in comfortable silence. 

“Life is fucked, isn’t it?” he muttered. 

You chuckled. “Now, there’s something we can agree on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, nothing spicy in this chapter but have no fear, the smut shall return.
> 
> Lots of talking in this chapter, but I really want to explore their new dynamic and how their connection has changed.


	9. Let Me Show You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Brooke learn more about the people they've become.

It was the middle of the night, the room dark and silent, and all you could think about was your conversation with Arthur. You had so many thoughts, and trying to put those thoughts into words was easily one of the most difficult things you’d ever experienced. You were so mad at him: mad at him for keeping you here, for scaring you, for mocking you.

It dawned on you that you were mad at him for being happy. In the midst of your misery and pain, he was enjoying life. 

The happiest time of your life, the time you’d spent with him, had been the most painful time in his life. And now here you were miserable and yearning for the past, while he celebrated his new life and all the violence that came along with it. It all made you resent his joy, and you didn’t want to feel that way.

You really couldn’t blame him for what happened. He’d been hurting so badly that he’d changed out of necessity, a way to survive the pain. You were starting to understand that this side of him had always been a part of him in some capacity, just hidden in the shadows. Once Arthur was completely broken down by horrific circumstances, Joker stepped in to take over. 

It was as if all the forces of the universe were working against you from the very beginning. He was right, you couldn’t have stopped it. Nothing could’ve. In this sick, twisted world, it all made perfect sense. You’d met him with just enough time to get to know him, just enough time to fall in love with him. And then fate tore him away, like it was all a cruel prank. 

As upsetting as it was to see him content, it also provided you with some solace. You’d been unaware of it at the time of course, but the Arthur you’d known was a tortured soul. At least now he was happy, even if it wasn’t with you. 

After two years, it finally felt like you were gaining some clarity. 

The bed felt cold and empty, and you made sure to ask Shithead for another blanket the next day. It helped with the chill, but it didn’t fill the void.  
More than you hated his happiness, you hated your own loneliness. You wished he’d never touched you, never made you feel so warm. It only made the cold more noticeable, the lonely nights more difficult. For all the clarity you’d gained, it was the one thing you still couldn’t wrap your mind around. Why did he kiss you, touch you, send your body up in flames? Was it all part of the game for him, just another joke? 

Whatever it was, it couldn’t happen again. You were beginning to accept that you were destined to live different lives, that he’d never been yours to keep. Being intimate with him would only make things more painful than they already were, and that was the last thing you needed. 

*** The Next Day***

He was here. You were taken aback when you realized it was him walking through the door, instead of Shithead like you’d expected. He casually walked across the room, surprising you with his lack of makeup. He was still wearing his suit, minus the bright red jacket. 

You sat up, waiting for him to speak. Instead, he pulled out a key and unlocked your door. You watched, mystified, as his eyes met yours. He sauntered right up to the bed, sat on the edge of it facing away from you, and said nothing. He had a pack of cigarettes, of course, and picked out two. His torso twisted so he could look at you, offering one. 

Perplexed, you took it from him, and instinctively stuck it between your teeth. He leaned toward you, scooting further onto the bed. You were confused until he held up the lighter, his eyes trained on the flame while you watched him. Once it was lit, his eyes met yours, holding your gaze for a moment before he turned around. 

You watched him light his own, smoke filling the air. You fell backward, resting against the wall. Minutes passed and he was still silent, simply puffing away. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re here or do you want me to guess?” 

He glanced upward, and you studied his green hair. He exhaled, loudly. “Just shootin’ the shit, as you call it.” 

The man was pro at throwing you curveballs, and you had no response. 

“Do you still draw?”

The question seemed to come out of thin air, and your brow furrowed. “Yeah, I’ve been drawing… landscapes, recently. Shithead didn’t want to give me a pencil for a while, I think he thought I was gonna stab him with it.”

Arthur guffawed, coughing up smoke and shaking his head. “Landscapes. Huh. Do you still draw people?” 

“No, I don’t draw people. I haven’t done that in a long time.” You stated simply. He was the last person you’d ever drawn. 

“Why?” 

You shrugged in response before remembering that he wasn’t looking at you. “I just stopped, I don’t know. Lost interest, I guess.”

He nodded, already halfway through his cigarette. “So now it’s landscapes.”

“Yeah, just different places I picture in my mind.” 

“Why?”

You laughed, groaning. “Jesus, I don’t know Arthur. I hadn’t thought about it.” You paused, your eyes narrowing. “I guess, landscapes… they’re simple. What you see is what you get, nothing more. A beach is a beach, a mountain is a mountain, a river in a river. I used to think the complexity of people was beautiful.” You scoffed, unable to hide the bitterness in your voice. “There’s something eternal about nature, it just is the way it is, and it will stay that way long after we’re gone. People are… more complicated.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, and you started to wonder if he’d even heard you. 

“I don’t agree. I think people are simple.” 

You raised a brow and decided to challenge him. “Why do you say that?”

“Everyone is after the exact same thing, sweetheart. Survival. That’s all there is to it. It’s every man for himself, selfishly fighting for survival, stepping over anyone that gets in their way. Life becomes a lot easier when you accept that.”

You listened intently, watching your cigarette burn. For a moment, you saw his point. It’s partly why he’d become Joker, right? A reaction, maybe subconscious, in the name of survival. But there was so much more to him, so much more to people. “I think you’re wrong - people are selfish, and twisted, and fucked up. But they can also be kind, and caring, and selfless.”

“Right, that’s why you’ve spent so much time socializing the past few years?” he shot you a knowing look over his shoulder. 

Your jaw clenched, and you looked at you lap in disappointment. “You’re right, but that’s a problem with me, not everyone else. I’m so terrified of getting hurt, I isolate myself. That’s beside the point though, because I still believe there is good in people. I think everyone has the capacity for both good and evil.” 

He looked away, and you were studying his profile when a thought struck you. “Look at your men, Arthur. You have an entire team of people working with you, willing to do whatever to help you. I don’t agree with the violence and crime, which you already know of course. But still, surely you must see good in them?”

He chuckled, his voice raspy and lilting. “Oh, sweetheart. Those men only follow me because the media made me the face of civil unrest. I’m the clown that murdered three rich Wayne employees, remember? All these men, they aren’t mine. They’re simple; they just want to survive, like everyone else. They will flock to anyone that offers them security, and would betray me in a heartbeat if someone else could offer them more.”

His words rocked you to your core and rendered you completely speechless. You’d forgotten entirely about your cigarette, and flicked it toward the floor near the steel bars. “Arthur... surely that’s not true… it can’t be.” 

He giggled resentfully. “Oh, I assure you it is, sweetheart. I’ve known it for a long time now.” 

You tried to absorb it all, what it meant. It sounded… lonely. Your chest grew tight at the thought. “Arthur, why are you still here then?” 

He shrugged, flicking his own cigarette. “Why not? I’m just as simple as the rest of them. I don’t really care what my men do, I’m not here for them. I told you I’m happy, and I wasn’t lying. Life’s a joke, remember? I’m just embracing the chaos, letting myself laugh.” 

You looked down, tracing random shapes on the bedding. It all sounded so empty, so meaningless. He didn’t think his men cared about him, and he didn’t care about them either. It dawned on you then that he was just as isolated as you. His view on life, and people, was so overwhelmingly cynical. 

Your eyes grew wet, the realization that he’d been alone all this time stinging you. It didn’t seem to bother him though, so why did it bother you? 

“Jesus, Arthur. Please, never tell me your opinion of me. I don’t think I could handle it.” You tried to joke, but your voice wavered.

He was still, unresponsive. The silence stretched, quickly becoming uncomfortable. He suddenly turned, his eyes finding yours. You stared downward instantly, hiding the tears. The feeling of the bed shifting beneath you made your heart skip a beat. You were too terrified to look up. You had to remind yourself to breathe as his knees settled on either side of your outstretched legs, straddling you. 

His fingers found your chin and his touch was overwhelmingly tender, as if you were made of glass. He lifted until you were finally forced to meet his gaze. The intensity was devastating, and you trembled beneath him. You watched his eyes study you, tried to identify the emotions swirling within their depths. 

“I think you could handle it, Brooke.” He murmured. 

Handle what? All you could think about was the feeling of his body against yours. _Oh, right._ His opinion of you. Should you ask?

He saw the question in your eyes. His hand moved to cup your jaw, his thumb sweeping across your cheek. His body heat was intoxicating, the familiar smell of smoke and mint irresistible. 

“Let me show you.” He hummed, his voice deliciously rough and full of promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... I am SO sorry this chapter is quite a bit shorter than usual!
> 
> And now... don't kill me... I'm leaving tomorrow and I will be gone all weekend with no opportunity to write, so the next chapter will not be posted until early next week!
> 
> I hope you love this chapter as much as I do, it's short but a lot is said. I don't know why, but it's taken me all day to write. I meant to have it posted HOURS ago, but felt like this conversation was important and wanted to make sure it was all perfect. 
> 
> AlsoSorryForTheCliffhangerPleaseDontHateMe <3


	10. Bonus Content

Ok y'all. I'm in the midst of preparing for my weekend away when the fantastic [foliagemcwoot](https://foliagemcwoot.tumblr.com/) sends me this sketch. It's inspired by a specific scene in this story and I am absolutely in LOVE with it and absolutely had to share it with you all! 

Fair warning, it is nasty and delicious and 100% NSFW. Scroll down for the goods!

I linked to her Tumblr, be sure to check her out!


	11. The Truth Always Comes Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Brooke reconnect, some revelations coming to light in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... smut. Shoutout to foliagemcwoot for doing some beta work on this chapter and making me feel secure in my smut skills XD

The room seemed to shrink in that moment, the entire world fading until you were the only people on earth. His dark eyes pierced your own, the surrounding air charged with energy. 

You studied his features and began to fall under his spell. You _had_ to stop this - it wasn’t real, not to him. It was all part of his game, and you couldn’t play along anymore. You needed distance and needed it _now._

His hand lifted to your throat and you tensed, remembering his bruising grip. Instead, his thumb brushed against your pulse and he sidled closer, his heat making you dizzy. Your head fell back against the wall and you brought a hand to his sternum, intending to increase the space between you. 

It was a weak attempt however, your muscles completely lax. His heart beat against your palm and a low moan escaped when he settled against your hips, straddling you on bent knees. He was hard, delightfully snug between your thighs. He watched you with narrowed and unreadable eyes. 

You couldn’t do this, couldn’t let it happen. He leant forward, his grip holding you steady against the wall, the movement rubbing his length between your thighs even more. His mouth was tantalizingly close, a warmth settling within you and wetness gathering down below. He was so close you could taste him when his advance came to a halt.

His eyes lifted from your mouth, green irises meeting yours. You tried to look away, one last attempt at distancing yourself, but you couldn’t do it. The anticipation was too much; your breathing was the only sound, and he was hardening with each passing second. You squirmed beneath him, creating delicious friction. What was he waiting for? _No, you don’t want this. Don’t let him kiss you._

Your hand on his chest relocated to his back, a feeble attempt to push him closer and bring his lips to yours - he didn’t budge. You bit your lip to keep from whining, growing more and more frustrated. You shouldn’t want his lips against yours, shouldn’t crave the taste of him. 

“Tell me to leave, Brooke.” His voice was raspy, his tone challenging. 

You should. You could shove him away and make a run for it. The gate was wide open, as it’d been the other day. You should jump at the opportunity, maybe punch him in the face or something to give yourself a head start. This was your chance. 

Before you could inhale your next breath, you closed the distance. His lips were soft yet unresponsive against yours, but after a few moments he tilted his head to a better angle and kissed you fervently. You groaned in desperation, eager to grind into him but his weight on your hips holding you captive. 

Arthur chuckled against your lips before suddenly pulling away, his weight disappearing and leaving you cold. He leisurely spread your legs and settled between your knees, his palms gently squeezing your thighs. “I know you’ve got a pair of sweatpants in that big pile of clothes.” He stared downward, watching his fingertips run up the inside of your thighs. “You don’t have to wear these tiny little shorts all the time.”

You struggled to breathe, his fingers brushing against the bare skin along the bottom hem of your shorts. “S-sweatpants twist up… around my legs when I sleep.” You stammered. 

“Oh, I’m not complaining, sweetheart. Shorts make for easy access.” His voice dripped with honey as he illustrated his point, tearing them down your thighs in one smooth motion. You were instantly exposed to the cold air, wearing nothing beneath the shorts. He practically purred, resting forward on his knees to admire. His hands found your skin once again and traveled hastily upward.

His cold fingers stroked your heated folds, the hungry look in his eyes devastating. “Always so wet.” He whispered to himself, his breath fanning warmth between your thighs. You trembled, your hands finding and gripping his hair. His thumbs spread you open and his slick tongue licked up your center, briefly flicking your clit. He hummed against your flesh and the vibrations made your toes curl. 

Two fingers entered you swiftly, eliciting a cry from your lips. His mouth retreated and he propped himself up to watch your reactions, a wicked grin on his face. The hand that wasn’t driving you crazy pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it across the room, his eyes immediately fixating on your chest. 

The wall was shockingly cold against your naked back, and you quickly sank down the bed until your head rested on the pillow. He adjusted with you, unfazed, dipping forward and eagerly sucking a nipple between his teeth. His fingers curled against your walls, thrusting as he lazily nibbled on your sensitive peak. 

Your back arched off the bed, one hand holding him firmly to your breast while the other clutched at the bedding. You couldn’t hold in your moans and frantically pushed yourself against his hand. His thumb circled your clit and his teeth closed around your nipple, your muscles instantly clenching wildly around his fingers. 

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He cooed against your breast, eyes trained on your face. 

Each breath was a struggle, your grip on his hair and the sheets loosening as your eyes closed. Your entire body was buzzing, numb with pleasure as the orgasm began to fade. You hardly registered his fingers leaving your heat, him crawling up the bed. Your eyelids fluttered open and there he was, a smug grin lifting his lips and sparkling in his eyes. 

He slowly lowered, and you stared helplessly until his lips finally pressed to yours. The taste of him was intoxicating, fanning the flames still burning inside you. He sucked on your bottom lip before giving it a playful bite, a hand coming to rest on your waist. You cried out when his hips came into contact with yours, his hard length settling against your overly sensitive flesh. His pants left nothing to the imagination as he thrust against you. 

He stopped all too soon, and a hand brushed against your pelvic bone. You broke eye contact to glance between your bodies, your forehead resting against his chin. Your breath caught as he unzipped the red pants, pushing them down and taking his underwear with them. Your mouth watered at the sight of an angry vein running along his rock-hard member, precum coating the head. His hand closed around the stiff flesh, pumping himself casually. 

You wanted to close your eyes or look away. His hand abandoned his length and you watched through a haze of lust as he cupped you, stroking your folds - you were absolutely soaked. Your jaw dropped when he returned to his erection, pumping with a stronger grip and coating himself with your juices. 

He rubbed the head along your sweltering folds, settling at your entrance. That’s when it hit you. You fell back onto the pillow, panic flooding through your veins. “Wait.” He stilled, his weight resting on an elbow as his stare burned into you. 

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. “I can’t. I can’t do this.” A tear slipped down your cheek, your voice wavering. “Please, don’t make me do this.” The feeling of him, firm and warm where you wanted him most, was agonizing. Your body was eager, your inner muscles already clenching. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t let this happen, knowing it would be your own ruin. 

“I’m not gonna make you do anything, kitten.” Your eyes flashed open, somewhat surprised. His irises were black with lust, but there was something else there, too. “Tell me to leave, and I will. This is all in your hands, one way or the other.” He confirmed. 

It was too much. You should tell him to leave. You needed to protect yourself, guard your heart.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, over his shirt and slid down over his back. Your palms smoothed over the firm muscles of his ass. His jaw clenched, his face hovering just inches away. You held his gaze and ushered his hips forward, the head entering your warmth. His eyelids instantly grew heavy, his lips hung slightly ajar. 

You moaned, every sensation heavenly, welcoming every inch. He was massive, familiar and new all at once. The stretch was painful enough that you had to pause every few seconds. 

“Fuck, you’re even tighter than I remember.” He groaned, squeezing the base of his cock to hold himself steady for you. You bit your lip, panting with anticipation. Unable to wait any longer, you forced him deeper until you had all of him. You felt split open, stretched to perfection. His cock throbbed against your tender walls and you whimpered desperately. 

He held steady, letting you adjust to his size. Then he dropped closer, his heated breath hitting your ear. “Just the way I wanted it, kitten. You filling yourself, so wet and needy for me. Just remember, it was you… every _single_ inch of it was all you.”

You wanted to sob, scream, throw a punch. You closed your eyes, shame heating your face. “I hate you.” You whispered lowly, arms falling to your sides in defeat.

He giggled and wrapped your legs around his waist. You couldn’t resist moaning when he dragged nearly all the way out, fucking back into you leisurely. He grunted, repeating the torturously slow motion. “Fuck, feels so good, so good.” He chanted, his mouth clamping down on the side of your throat. He licked and sucked, biting gently. “I want to mark every inch of your body.” 

You clenched around him, your back arching off the bed. His chest against yours was exquisite, your insides quivering uncontrollably with pleasure. He kept up the agonizing pace, suddenly pressing your knees higher and changing his angle. His tip kissed your cervix and he let out a guttural moan against your skin, moving lower to suck another mark near your clavicle. 

This was all wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “Why are you doing this to me?” you asked in a daze. He said nothing, just nibbled at your skin and fucked you deep into the mattress. “I hate you,” you declared, then repeated it for good measure. He was silent, caressing your waist and brushing his fingertips along your hip. 

“I should hate you.” 

“You probably should.” He confirmed, nodding his head before licking up to your jaw. He lowered his body flush against yours, bottoming out deep within you and allowing his pubic bone to press against your clit. “Tell me, Brooke. Why has nobody touched you in two years?” He growled, holding himself still even though you could feel him pulsating against your walls.

“No.” you whispered, refusing. 

He circled his hips once, grinding against the bundle of nerves. Your insides clenched, almost enough to orgasm but not quite. Your skin was pure fire, the heat of pleasure nearly too much as he kept you right on the edge. 

“Why, Brooke?” he demanded, circling his hips once more while staying as deep as possible. He kissed your jaw, your cheek, and finally your lips. “Tell me why.” 

You clenched your eyes shut tighter, refusing to kiss him back. _“No.”_ Your nails bit into the skin of his back, sure to leave marks. 

“It’s okay, Brooke, you can say it. It’s just you and me.” He assured against your lips, teasing you with a thrust. He swiftly forced your arms over your head, holding your wrists in his right hand and resting his weight on his left elbow. He licked the seam of your lips, yet you still refused to respond. He kissed a tear from your cheek, then gently nibbled on your earlobe. 

A full-body shudder hit like a ton of bricks, the need for him to move undeniable. “I couldn’t.” you admitted painfully. His hips were firm, holding you captive beneath him while his cock teased your cervix.

“Why couldn’t you?” he demanded, faintly grinding against your clit.

“Because I _couldn’t_!” you wailed. “I pushed everyone away, I was dead inside. I… I was scared.” Each word was a knife to the heart, things you hadn’t fully admitted even to yourself. Hot tears streamed into your hair, sweat beading across your body. 

A gentle kiss caught you off guard, his lips caressing yours. It was firm but tender, somehow comforting. _“Arthur,”_ you sighed, finally kissing him back. He smiled against you before deepening the kiss and tasting you with his tongue. His hand held your wrists firmly, his chest rubbing deliciously against your stiff nipples.

You nearly screamed when he pulled out, every nerve within you crackling with energy. He pounded back into you rapidly, hitting that spot within that made you see stars. He sucked on your tongue, his rhythm punishing and unrelenting. 

You squeezed your inner muscles and savored his answering growl. “Knew it would be like this.” He murmured, sending chills up your spine. He released your hands and you instantly clutched his hair, holding his mouth to yours. He gripped your knees, practically folding you in half as he fucked you with brutal abandon. 

You broke the kiss, unable to focus on anything but the rapidly building pressure. Your vision was fuzzy but you couldn’t close your eyes. You followed his intense gaze straight to where you were joined, watching yourself take him. 

“All this time, waiting for me. You were just waiting for me to fit perfectly inside you, the way we both remember.” He rumbled through a clenched jaw. 

You shivered, searching for a way to deny it but coming up empty. He lifted his head, his nose brushing against your own. Your eyelids fell shut, desperate to avoid acknowledging his words. You wrapped your arms around him, bringing him as close as humanly possible and pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck. 

His hands abandoned your knees, clasping tightly into your hair and supporting the weight of your head as you clung to him. You tightened your legs around his waist, your breaths erratic against his collarbone. Every ridge of his length teased you, setting off violent tremors throughout your body. With each thrust he hit your cervix, and suddenly this was the only thing you wanted in the entire world. Your walls quivered, tightening. 

_“Arthur,”_ you sighed, pressing your lips against his collarbone and sucking gently on his skin. _I missed you. _

His fingers tightened in your hair, his thrusts growing wild. Every brush of his pelvis against your clit made you cry out. “Open up for me, we both know you want to. I’m going to fill you completely and you’re going to take all of it. Let go, Brooke.” 

His words were enough to set you off, your arms tightening around him as tingles exploded across your body. He pounded into you, your muscles impossibly tight and clenching down on him as he fucked you through it. You bit down hard on the muscle between his shoulder and neck, your nails digging into his shoulder blades. 

He sank all the way in and warmth filled you, his seed spilling deep within. He thrust one last time, drawing it out as long as possible. You could feel cum already leaking, the aftershocks going strong as he collapsed against you. 

The only sound in the room was your combined breathing, his grip on your hair gradually loosening. You should feel suffocated by his weight, but instead you held him tighter, welcoming the closeness. His back was damp with sweat and you tentatively kissed his chest, tasting him. He groaned, the sound muffled by your hair and the pillow. Your legs unwrapped from his waist, falling lifelessly onto the bed. 

The feeling of him still inside you was euphoric, the warmth of him surrounding you so completely was heavenly. His fingers soothingly brushed against your hair as your breathing began to even out, sleep approaching rapidly. 

“I missed you.” You slurred. You hadn’t intended to say it out loud, but maybe the truth always comes out in the end.


	12. The Missing Puzzle Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke has time to reflect on recent events, and things come to a head between her and Arthur.

It was pitch black when your eyes fluttered open. Your muscles ached, and memories instantly assaulted you. As you rolled onto your back you found the bed empty; he was gone. You should be used to it by now, but this time it stung more than usual. 

You curled on your side, pulling the covers up to try and chase away the cold. Your body was deliciously sore but your mind felt like it’d been put through a meat grinder. What were you thinking? You’d let your emotions take over. He’d opened up just enough, and you let your guard down like a fool. Yes, you hurt for him. You know what he’s been through, how badly he’s been broken – you watched him shatter. And yes, the realization that life didn’t seem any easier on him shook you to your core. But none of that changes the fact that he’s a murderer. He’s still responsible for you being locked in this room. 

Yet you wanted so badly to believe that he cared. Sometimes his eyes would soften and your heart would skip a beat. The way he’d looked at you, touched you, kissed you… the feeling of being with him again… 

The glow quickly dimmed however as logic kicked in. The way he constantly pushed you, it’s as if he _wanted_ to shove you over the edge of sanity. He was _trying_ to mess with you, forcing you to admit things you didn’t want to admit and _loving_ it. 

You’d been forced to face everything you so carefully avoided. Not only did you fail Arthur years ago, but you’d failed yourself ever since. You thought it would be easier to let people in, to connect with others. After everything that happened you should have grown stronger. Instead, you pushed everyone away and became an empty shell of a person. You were just as closed off as you were before Arthur, if not more. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t be intimate with him again, knowing how important it was to protect your heart. Knowing that you were already too attached to him, that giving him anymore of yourself would only lead to heartbreak. Your dream that he still cared was only that: a dream. 

You did the exact opposite, giving yourself to him in every possible way. And you’d enjoyed it. You’d missed him all this time. Even now, alone once again, you missed him. Hot tears flooded your eyes. All you wanted was for him to care and it was absolutely exhausting. 

You watched the room fill with light as morning arrived. Shithead came in at some point, but you quickly turned to face the wall. He assumed you were asleep, dropped off your food, and was gone again. 

You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to think. You just wanted to be numb. 

***

Weeks passed, or maybe it was just a few hours. You couldn’t tell the difference. Either way, it gave you time to reflect. Time for you to stop missing him. Time for the anger to fester. 

When he finally reappeared, he was sitting on your bed. You could sense him as you woke up, the distinct smell of smoke. You stared at the wall and refused to turn around. “Go away.” You whispered, voice raspy with sleep. 

“So soon? I just got here.” 

You clenched your eyes shut and said nothing. 

“I’ve been gone a while. Figured you were probably missing my presence, as most people do.” His tone was light, airy, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He truly didn’t deserve anything from you. He let the silence stretch for a long time before chuckling. “The silent treatment, huh?”

You pursed your lips, not budging. When the bed dipped and he moved closer your blood ran cold. _“Do. Not. Touch. Me.”_ Your voice was poisonous, unrecognizable even to yourself. 

He stopped, thankfully, and sighed. “Not to poke the bear, but I thought we were on pretty good terms, Brooke. _Very,_ good terms, in fact.”

“You’re seeing things through rose colored glasses, _Arthur_.” You uttered, throwing his own words back at him. 

He laughed bitterly. “I see. You know, it’s been a rough few weeks and I’ll be honest – this isn’t exactly the warm welcome I was expecting.”

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “Cry me a river. I’m not taking the bait.” 

“I’m gonna need you to clarify, darling.”

“This is what you _do_ Arthur, you get me to feel for you, to care about you. Then you touch me, even fuck me. You leave, then you come back and do it all over again.”

He scoffed. “Oh, what _torture_.” 

You shot up, turning to face him and scooting to the farthest edge of the bed. “Yes, it is _torture._ I never know what Arthur I’m going to get. Maybe you’ll yell at me and try to burn my sketch. Or maybe you’ll have a normal conversation with me and offer me a cigarette. Maybe you’ll come in and kiss me. Every time I start to think I understand you... I just don’t know what you _want_ from me, Arthur. You push me constantly to talk about things, to admit things. It’s like you get off on messing with me head. You poke fun at these… open wounds, things that I don’t want to think about let alone talk about.”

You paused for a moment, trying to catch your breath. But the dam was broken. “I know you’ve been through hell, I really do. But I need you to understand that my past boyfriends used me; they made me feel like dirt, treated me like shit. I know when I’m being used, okay? And no matter how much shit you’ve gone through, you don’t have any right to use me the same way they did. I _never… ever…_ imagined you might use me too.” 

You practically choked, sick to your stomach. “And yes, the past two years have been hell for me, and while I don’t blame you for that, I do blame you for all of this. I blame you for locking me up, for messing with my head, for using my own emotions against me. I blame you for forcing me to admit that I care, then using it to your advantage. Touching me, fucking me, and then leaving. It all just makes me feel… _dirty_.” 

The hot tears began to flow, and you couldn’t stop it. “My feelings for you were so… pure. Whatever else happened, at least I had that. Now it’s… twisted into something filthy, something to be used against me. And words can’t express how badly it hurts… knowing _you_ are the one using it against me.” You shook your head forcefully. “I can’t take it anymore; my heart can’t handle it. I’ve missed you so much, but now… If this is what it means to finally have you again… I’d rather not have you at all.” 

You stared at the space between you, shoulders trembling uncontrollably. His gaze burned, but you refused to look up. Eventually he stood, and anger and pain immediately pulsed through your veins. “Of course, _leave_ just like you always do. You always just _LEAVE_!” You spat, hands quaking with fury. 

He stopped in his tracks, his back turned to you in silence. You hated yourself for wishing he’d throw you a lifeline. You wanted, more than anything, for him to refute everything, for him to prove you wrong. But he didn’t even try. No fight, no argument… just nothing. You deserved more than nothing. The silence was enough to prove you correct: you were just a part of his game. The anger retreated, misery taking its place. You rocked back and forth, wrapping your arms around your knees and pulling them to your chest in an attempt to comfort yourself. 

You broke apart, pleading with him. “Please, Arthur. I already know that I will give myself to you over and over. Every time you come in here and play with my affections, I won’t be able to stop myself. And at some point, all the love I used to feel for you will be nothing but resentment. You might be okay with that, but I’m not. You can’t keep me here like some sort of sex toy to fuck whenever you’re home every few weeks. If you’ve ever really cared, please make this easy for me. Let me go and never find me again, because I’m not strong enough to resist you and being used will kill me. I need you to let me go.”

He didn’t turn around, his shoulders stiff. “Tench will find you.” His voice was hollow, emotionless. 

“Oh, _fuck_ Tench, Arthur! I don’t care, alright? I don’t fucking care. Let him find me, I will handle him just like I handled your men.”

His spine visibly stiffened. “I don’t think you understand, Brooke. They won’t push you around with empty threats. They will tie you up and torture you in ways you could never imagine.” 

“And I _still_ won’t say anything!” You sobbed. 

_“And they will KILL you for it!”_ He screamed, his composure breaking so violently that you almost jumped out of your skin. 

You tucked your knees tighter into your chest, your lip quivering. His hands fell to his sides, and you watched them tremble as he flexed his fingers repeatedly, probably aching for a cigarette. You held your breath, trying to comprehend it all. You’d never seen him like this, the anxiety rocking through his body palpable. 

Maybe this was the missing puzzle piece, the detail you’d been missing all along. Your brain, fuzzy from the overwhelming emotions, struggled to piece it all together. He was… _worried_, about Tench hurting you?

“You’re not keeping me here to protect yourself.” You mused, brow furrowed as you studied his tense frame. “You’re protecting me, aren’t you?”

His spine stiffened once more, his fists clenching. He started to laugh, quiet at first but quickly growing hysterical. He clutched at his gut, but didn’t seem to be in pain. “Sweetheart, you’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” He sang. 

He was unsettled, and you could feel it. You were on to something. “I’ve been reading this all wrong, this whole time… this was a twisted way to protect me.” The implications of this… he was scared of you falling into Tench’s hands, scared of what would happen to you when you refused to give Tench what he wanted. “Arthur… please just explain to me… why am I really here? What do you really want from me? Are you… protecting me?” 

He squeezed his fists, tension rolling off of his entire body. You could just barely see his jaw, the muscles twitching persistently. 

“Alright Brooke, let’s set the record straight then, hmm?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You had it all right the first time around, really.” 

You remained silent as he pulled out a cigarette, quickly lighting it and taking a drag. 

“The truth is, I locked you up in here because I’m bored.” He exhaled, the smell of smoke quickly filling the room. “Life’s pretty exciting, don’t get me wrong. I found my audience, and they love me.”

“But they don’t _love_ you, Arthur.” You interrupted.

He tipped his head back, giggling. “Don’t they?”

You narrowed your eyes, desperate to prove a point. “You said it yourself, Arthur. They don’t even know you-“

You flinched, back slamming against the headboard when he spun around and nearly lunged onto the bed. He pointed, accusing you. “Oh, but _you_ do? You look at me and you don’t even see me. You still see the person that I _used_ to be.” 

The rage aimed at you was overwhelming, panic coursing through your veins and tears blurring your vision. “That’s… that’s not true…”

His eyes were pure fire. “Oh but it is, kitten. My men, at least they see me for who I really am. They saw my potential, gave me a platform, and have been by my side ever since. And where were _you_? Oh, that’s right: you were _hiding_ from me, hoping you would never see me again. The truth is that you loved Arthur and you hate Joker, and you’ll never understand that they are one and the same. And you’re right, I do enjoy messing with you. You’re easy to mess with and it’s fun, what more can I say?”

The desire to lash out, scream, fight him in some way was unbearable but all you could do was listen in horror. Your jaw dropped and your eyes closed, wishing you could block him out. 

“My men’s loyalty is fragile, yes. But so was yours. At least they see me for who I really am.” 

Each word was a knife to the chest. You shook your head in disbelief. “This isn’t you, you’re lashing out.” You claimed timidly. 

“But it is, Brooke. This is me.”

“No…It’s not. I… I’ve _seen_ the real you, even during the past few months. You still… I see the way you look at me sometimes, and the way you… you act so gentle…”

He giggled, unhinged. “Oh sweetheart, that’s all it is: _an act._ I’ve been needing some…stimulation in my life as of late. My men are wonderful but there’s certain things they can’t give me, obviously. I needed something to play with, and you were the perfect candidate. Your life was dull and nobody would miss you, so here we are. You’re my fucking toy that I will play with whenever and however I want, and that’s all this is. I will touch you, kiss you, fuck you, and then I will leave. You said if this is what it means to have me again, you’d rather not have me at all. Well you _don’t_ have me, kitten, so you don’t need to worry about that. And you can resent me all you want, I don’t care. You mean nothing to me. _Nothing_.” 

You weren’t sure if you were breathing anymore, or if you even remembered how. All the life had been sucked out of your body. All of it was expected. You should have expected it. It was all of your worst fears, the doubts that had plagued your mind ever since you’d reunited with him. All of them had been realized, demons brought to life with every word he spoke. 

He lingered, stiff as a board, cigarette seemingly forgotten. Every word hung in the air, suffocating you. 

He turned his head slightly in your direction, his hands clenched tightly all the while. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, didn’t want to feel the pain. You could only see him in your peripheral, and this time when he stepped through the gate you didn’t stop him. You listened to it lock, then his footsteps disappeared. You couldn’t do anything but stare ahead, slightly rocking back and forth with your chin on your knees. 

You’d wanted the truth, desperately tried to solve the puzzle. Now, you wanted to scatter the pieces across the earth and forget that you’d ever found the answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... am... so... sorry...
> 
> Also, I'm pretty curious what readers opinions are. How do you see Arthur in this story? I'm curious to know how he's coming across to the readers vs how I have him characterized in my mind :)


	13. Still Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur breaks some hard news to Brooke, and she tries to prove a point.

Bless shithead’s heart, he just didn’t give up: in a lot of ways he reminded you of Michael from the grocery store. Both of them were painfully friendly, persistent in their desire to get to know you. Your gloomy silence clearly bothered shithead, and he’d sit in your room every day for an hour when he brought you food. 

You never said much of course, but he’d talk anyway. About his family, what was happening in the city, anything he could think of. You never told him, but you were grateful for the intrusion. It also helped you keep track of time, giving you an event to note each day. 

After a few weeks, you finally started to break out of your shell. “Do you know why I’m here?” you asked, voice hoarse from weeks of silence. 

“What do you mean?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. “I mean… Arth - _Joker_ mentioned something a few weeks ago and I’ve been wondering about it ever since. Did something happen with Tench? Was there a specific instance that led to me being locked up?”

He appeared pensive, as if sorting through his memories. “Hmm… honestly, sunshine, I’m not sure. You came out of nowhere, to be honest with you. Nobody’d ever heard of you, but suddenly it was top priority to grab you before Tench could. And like I mentioned, anytime we asked questions about you he’d just ignore us. I assume you’re somebody from his past, but I don’t know anything beyond that.” He shot you a curious look. 

You let out a sigh, realizing it might help to confide in someone. “I am from his past. I got to know him before… all of this.”

Shitheah’s eyes widened. “What was he like?”

You laughed. If only he knew how loaded that question was. “He was… timid. Shy. Sweet. Caring. Naïve. He was dealt a horrible hand in life, and I don’t say that lightly.”

Shithead chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Timid and sweet… two words I’d never use to describe the boss. Crazy to think about. How did you know him?”

It felt like someone was finally giving you permission…no, _inviting_ you to reminisce. “First time I saw him was on a bus. He was being harassed… he had this… condition. He’d laugh and wouldn’t be able to stop. It was painful for him. Then we ran into each other at a pharmacy, had coffee, became fast friends you could say. I didn’t have much time with him though… things happened… quickly.” You gulped, glancing down at the bed. 

Shithead uncrossed his legs, leaning forward. “Did you... were you in love with him?”

You tried to roll your eyes, scoff, anything. But when you met his gaze it was obvious he already knew. You sighed. “Yes, I was.” The words were quiet, and it felt good to admit this to someone else for the first time ever. You told Sam of course, but she never knew the full story.

You looked up and he was smiling, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. “It must be strange seeing him now.”

You chortled, blinking back tears. “That’s the understatement of the century.” You both laugh for a moment, knowing it’s not exactly funny. You go quiet, thinking about your last conversation. “He says I love who he used to be and hate who he is now.”

“Do you?” 

Your brow furrowed. “I should. But I don’t think so, no. I could never hate him, not really. I’m angry with him and I don’t understand him, but I don’t hate him. I just… He tells me that Arthur and Joker are the same person. It’s difficult for me to believe that the Arthur I knew had all of this darkness beneath the surface… And I think I’m beginning to accept it… But if Arthur and Joker are the same person, what does that mean for me? I loved Arthur but I can’t love Joker. It’s nonsensical. He’s a murderer, a criminal. I could never approve of that lifestyle. No offense, of course.”

Shithead laughed. “None taken, believe me.”

“But you see my dilemma.” 

He played with his fingernails, considering. “Yeah, I do. I will say that the heart wants what it wants, and sometimes it’s nonsensical. But I think if you really want to bridge the gap, just… ask him to explain it all to you.”

You guffawed bitterly. “Yeah, I’ve tried that. I asked him to tell me the truth, tried to confront him. He… didn’t take it well. He said a lot of things. We both did, I guess.”

“Hmm… How did it end?”

_My men’s loyalty is fragile, yes. But so was yours. You’re my fucking toy. You mean nothing to me._

“With him saying I’m only here because of Tench, and that I’m his toy. I mean nothing to him. I should hate him for that, too.” You replied shortly, knowing if you said more you would burst into tears.

“Well I think you should do some more digging.”

Your head shot up, perplexed by his sureness. “Why do you say that?”

“Look, we’ve gone after plenty of people to protect Joker. People from his past, people in the present, anyone that posed a threat. Anyone with… delicate information. Which, based on what you’ve told me, definitely includes you. And to put it gently, we’ve never held anyone here. Things are always dealt with… _swiftly._ You are the only person that’s been kept here for any length of time. I’m not claiming to know what that means: maybe he really just finds it fun to screw with you. Knowing boss, that’s entirely possible. But it’s a break in the pattern, so something about you is different. I don’t think you should give up until you figure out what that something is.” 

The genuine care in his eyes was touching, and his words struck a chord. You offered him a grateful smile, hoping it communicated the emotions you couldn’t voice thanks to the lump in your throat. “Thank you, really.” You managed, and he simply nodded in return. 

*** A Week Later ***

You started to feel better slowly but surely; you were working out again, which helped release some of the pent-up energy and frustration. The door opened and you paused mid pushup, arms shaking. You turned and sat with your back against the bed, eyes closed and breathing heavily.

The hatch opened and a tray of food slid across the floor. “Perfect, now I can gain back all the calories I just burned.” You joked. The only answer was retreating footsteps, prompting your eyes to flash open in confusion. “Hey,” you started to ask why he wasn't staying, immediately silenced at the sight of a red suit.

Arthur was walking briskly toward the main door, and you almost let him leave…. But you had to ask. “Where’s shithead?” you called out, watching him come to a halt just a few steps away from the door. 

“Jake is dead.” He stated matter-of-factly. 

Your blood ran cold. “What… no…” _Jake. You’d never even known his real name._ “He…that’s… he can’t be dead…”

“He’s dead as a doorknob.” With that he started toward the door once more.

_“Wait!”_ you exclaimed, your mind trying to process it. It wasn’t possible…

He turned, a red smile painted across his lips but his eyes completely indifferent. He strolled up to the desk and leaned against it, staring at you impatiently. 

“How?” you whispered.

“It doesn’t matter, the story ends with him dead.”

“It _does_ matter, Arthur.” You’d just seen him yesterday… just laughed at one of his jokes... “He was… he was my _friend_.” Your body felt like it was weighted to the floor. 

“Consider my heart warmed, I know just how rare that is for you.”

Your eyes narrowed, your jaw clenched. “Look. I understand that things between us are… complicated, right now. But if you could drop the attitude for just a _second_ and talk to me like a real human, that would be wonderful.”

He didn’t say anything but eventually pulled out a cigarette and seemed to get comfortable. “He went out on a gun grab. We’ve been running low on certain supplies recently and it’s a routine stop. Should’ve gone smoothly.” Smoke billowed as he paused. “Tench’s men decided to drop in unexpectedly.” 

You couldn’t hold in a laugh, glancing upward and shaking your head. “Of course. I should have guessed.” You groaned when a realization hit you. “He had a family. He was supposed to send them money soon, his little sister…” He would never get back to them. He’d never sit in the chair and keep you company again. 

“Everyone has a family, Brooke.”

His blasé attitude disgusted you and you didn’t try to hide it. “Of course. _Everyone._ The way you and I have loving, caring families, right?”

His eyes shot to you and his eyebrow raised. “Put the claws away, kitten. I’m not in the mood today.”

“Yeah well neither am I. That man had a _genuine_ family that he really cared about. He was nice, and funny, he was a person with a life and now he’s gone. How can you not be affected by that?”

“I didn’t force him to be here, Brooke. He chose it. He knew the risks.”

“All this chaos, violence… this life that you’ve chosen. Your men, dying around you… Is it really all worth it?” 

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes, actually, it is.”

“I just… I don’t get it. Please explain to me what about all of this makes you happy? Is it the fact that you have people surrounding you, even though they’re apparently disposable? Is it the violence, some kind of bloodlust? I don’t want to fight, I just want to understand why you’ve chosen to live like this.”

“Because I don’t have to hide anymore. It’s all I ever did, it’s what my mother taught me my whole life – _put on a happy face._ Take some pills, smile…” he grinned, slipped into an Irish accent, “It’ll all be grand.” 

You considered for a moment, biting your lip. After your last conversation, this felt like skating on thin ice. “I’m sorry, Arthur. You deserved better. Everyone deserves to be listened to, and I’m sorry that you felt so…trapped. But… aren’t you… still trapped? Just, in a different way? I mean… you’re a fugitive.”

He just grinned cheekily, pointing at you with the cigarette. “It’s not the same thing and you know it. I’m the king of Gotham. While all the politicians scramble for control, I’m running this town and they know there’s nothing they can do about it. I’m not scared of anything anymore, I’m not the victim anymore. I’m completely free.” 

“You’re scared of Tench.” He shot you a dirty look, a warning, but you didn’t stop. “He’s killing your men, Arthur. You’re not untouchable, and at some point, all of this is going to catch up with you. No matter how many followers you’ve amassed, you’re gonna end up either dead or in prison. That’s not real freedom.”

His eyes turned dark, dangerous, his lopsided smile unsettling. “You know, I’ve killed all my therapists. You sure you want to follow in their footsteps?”

Chills shot down your spine and you could only hope the fear didn’t show on your face. He wanted to rile you up, mess with you. Play with you. You needed to shut it down. 

“Aw, what’s the matter, cat got your tongue, kitten?”

_You’re my fucking toy. You mean nothing to me._

You wordlessly stood up, deciding it was time to escape – you needed to take a shower after your workout anyway. Shithead was gone, and you felt the surprising need to grieve. Maybe it wasn’t surprising… He’d been your only source of human contact, aside from Arthur, for a very long time. He’d become more of a friend than you’d realized.

“Not in the mood to play, huh?” He teased. 

“Not today, no.” Numb, you closed yourself into the bathroom.


	14. Break Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke and Arthur come to some understandings. 
> 
> I'd like to address the elephant in the room: I suck at writing summaries. 
> 
> I'd also like to say that this sequel is now longer than the original story, and honestly I'm not mad about it. With part one, since it was my first time writing a fic, I kept things small and wasn't necessarily confident in my writing style. I think now, with this sequel, I'm beginning to find my voice and have grown a bit more confident. So yes this sequel is becoming much longer than I anticipated but oh well :)

The next day, it was a stranger that brought your food. He said nothing, and you did the same. You didn’t want to get to know anyone else. Not when they could die at any time. It wasn’t worth the hurt. Arthur didn’t show his face either. 

A few days later, you were wiped out by a fever and all you could do was curl up in a ball under the covers. The room was too cold, your body ached constantly and you found yourself longing for home before realizing you didn’t have one. 

By now the search for you had likely died off. There were plenty of other things keeping the authorities busy in Gotham, Arthur being one of them. They’d likely written you off and assumed you’d run away to another city. Your apartment was probably cleared out, not that it had ever really been a home. You’d surely been replaced at the grocery store within days of your disappearance.

It was probably as if you’d never existed in the first place.

The stranger brought food every day, and every day it sat untouched. You didn’t have the energy to sit up, let alone get out of bed. Besides that, you had no appetite. You just wanted to drop through the floor and cease to exist. Then one day, the gate opened and the bed dipped behind you. 

“Yoo-hoo, anybody home?”

You curled into yourself tighter, your clothes and hair stuck to your skin with sweat. 

“You need to eat. Your stomach is probably eating itself.”

You hadn’t spoken a word in days and your throat was painfully dry. “Just let me die,” you murmured into your pillow. He moved closer and you whimpered. “Please, leave me alone. I just want to be alone. I don’t want you here.” 

He didn’t respond for a long while but eventually stood up. “Have it your way. There’s hot tea next to the bed.” With that he was gone. You waited until the main door closed behind him to let the tears fall… maybe it was the fever, but you wished he’d stayed.

*** 

When you woke up drenched in sweat and realized the fever had finally broke, you instantly attempted to stand. Your legs shook, but you were so sticky from days of sweat that you persevered through it all the way to the bathroom. You stripped off what little clothes you were wearing and eagerly turned on the shower, sitting down and letting it wash over you until it ran cold. 

Clean clothes were the finishing touch, along with stripping the sheets off your bed. You’d ask for a fresh set when food was dropped off today. _Food._ Your stomach rumbled right on cue, your throat suddenly unbearably dry. The tea was still sitting beside the bed, and you eagerly gulped it down. It had gone cold long ago of course, possibly days ago, but tasted delicious. 

You wrapped up in a blanket and sat on the stripped bed for hours, and when the door opened you practically leapt into the air. Disappointment and relief swept through you all at once when you realized it was Arthur, not the stranger.

He sauntered over to the gate, his painted face hard as stone. He wordlessly unlocked the hatch and slid the tray across the floor, watching you, waiting for a reaction. As much as you didn’t want to give him one, you were famished. You tossed the blanket away and dropped to the floor, crawling to the tray and desperately shoveling food into your mouth. 

He backed away and sat on the desk, watching you coolly. “There’s a chance we may need to move to a new location.”

You paused the feast, swallowed and peeked up at him in confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

“Things happened while you were sick. Our location might’ve been compromised, my men are in the process of confirming and we should know within the next few days. Figured you should have a heads up.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean compromised?” 

He drew on the desk with his finger absentmindedly. “Tench.” 

Ah. Of course. You glanced down at the food, moving it around the plate with your fork. “Why haven’t you just… killed Tench yet?”

He raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Wow. All this time, it was so obvious. Just kill Tench. The thought never crossed my mind.”

You shrugged. “Okay, I get it. But seriously, I’m just surprised you haven’t already. Surely your men must be foaming at the mouth for the opportunity, given how many of them he’s killed. And I… well, I was thinking about it… if you just kill Tench, you could let me go. No Tench, no problem. It would be a win-win situation.”

He just stared, his expression completely unreadable. “I’ll get right on it.” He said simply. 

You groaned in frustration. “God, I _hate_ when you do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“You don’t make any sense! You won’t let me leave because of Tench, but when I suggest killing him you act like it’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard.”

He studied you for a moment, his jaw clenching repeatedly. “I already told you. Yes, you’re here because of Tench. But you’re also here for other purposes; we can go over them again, if you’d like.” 

You turned back to your food, heat rising on your cheeks for a brief moment. 

“That’s what I thought.” He chuckled.

Post-fever clarity must be a thing, because something clicked. The last time you brought up Tench, he changed the subject. Now here you were again, bringing up Tench and getting shut down. There had to be more to it, there had to be. It was the only thing you had to cling to, your best lead. 

_It’s a break in the pattern, so something about you is different. I don’t think you should give up until you figure out what that something is._

“I’ve been wondering about something Jake told me.” You stated, focusing on the steel bars in front of you. 

Arthur had just begun to stand but paused. “Alright, I’ll bite. What exactly did he tell you?” he goaded.

“He told me you’ve never kept anyone locked up like this, that I’m a break in your pattern.” He froze, and you continued before he had a chance to interrupt. “I don’t know what that means. But what I do know is that every time I bring up Tench, you deflect. And maybe it’s true…” you gulped, struggling to let the words escape. “Maybe I am just… a toy. I still think there’s more to the story, things you aren’t telling me.”

He tapped on his chin, his eyes narrowing. “You said it yourself: I’m using you as a sex toy, remember? You’re just something to play with when I get bored, that’s all there is to it.”

You took a deep breath, realizing that things were quickly becoming heated. You needed to stay calm, before things got out of control. “There it is again. You’re trying to distract me, but it’s not gonna work this time. What happened with Tench, Arthur? How did he find out about me and why won’t you talk about it?”

His eye twitched, his lips pursed tightly. He stood up tersely and turned to leave the room. Frustration coursed through you, positive you’re on to something but unsure of how to get it out of him. 

That’s when you remembered the sheets: you’d slipped them between the bars earlier, and they sat in a pile on the hard floor. “Wait! Just wait for one second.” He paused but didn’t turn around. “Can I please get clean sheets... please.” 

He spun on his heel, ambled toward you, picked them up, and left all without looking at you. Left in silence, you contemplated his behavior. He was guarding something, and desperately didn’t want to talk about it. 

You didn’t doubt for a moment that he loved to mess with you, that his declarations of contempt for you were the truth. You had no reason not to believe him. He was the Joker, the most infamous criminal in a city full of them - plenty of people in Gotham were terrified of walking down the street because of him. You had every reason to believe he felt nothing for you, that every hurtful word he’d said was absolutely true. 

But it was also absolutely true that every time Tench’s connection to you came up, Arthur changed the subject... It’s a mystery you have to solve. He’d been beyond agitated when talking about Tench before, and he’d deflected by going off on his cruel rant… You can’t allow him to deflect anymore. 

By the time he returned, sans makeup, the sun had set and the daylight was fading rapidly. He held the pile of sheets and you sighed in relief; you’d begun to suspect you would have to sleep without them. You stood, preparing to simply pull them through the steel bars. To your surprise, he unlocked the gate and you unexpectedly found yourself just a few steps away from him. 

Something flashed in his eyes, and your gut filled with unease. He shocked you by tossing the sheets onto the bed, closing the distance and pressing his lips to yours. Caught off guard, your mind raced and you were suddenly flat on your back against the mattress. 

You struggled for a fleeting moment, but his slightly calloused hands running up your arms as he settled on top of you instantly warmed your core. Every part of his body was pressed to yours, heat encompassing your atmosphere. His kiss was bruising yet gentle, coaxing a moan from your lips. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue teasing yours. 

You didn’t want to _want_ this. But every inch of you was lit up, every touch setting off sparks. He’d hurt you so deeply, the words he’d said assaulting your mind. In a fit of anger, you bit his bottom lip and caught him off guard just enough to roll your bodies. You perched above him, and he stared up at you, clearly reeling. His green hair and red suit were a stark contrast to the clean white sheets strewn across the bed beneath him. 

You lowered your hips, settling directly against the ridge in his pants. You could tell he was fighting for control, his jaw clenching tightly. You placed your hands on his chest, finding balance before grinding against him just once. His eyebrow twitched, and you watched the muscles in his throat work to hold back a moan. 

Clearly enjoying the idea of you taking things further, he remained motionless and simply watched you. You circled your hips once more, nice and slowly. The noticeable bulge was growing quickly and rubbed against you in all the right places. You lowered your torso to his, your elbows coming to rest on either side of his head as you stopped a breath away from his lips. His eyes dropped to your mouth, but you didn’t close the distance. Instead you lifted your hips just enough to give yourself space, ran a hand down his front and stroked him over his pants. 

His eyes fell closed and his jaw clenched even tighter. You kept the pressure light, teasing him and feeling him harden beneath you. Watching him closely, you undid his pants and slipped your hand inside; his cock was rock hard, the smooth skin hot to the touch. Still, he refused to react. 

You brought your lips to his cheek, kissing down his throat and closing your fist around his length. You gave it a brief squeeze, feeling him pulse in your grip. You nipped at the skin right above his collarbone, sucking at it and simultaneously brushing your thumb over his tip. The head was already covered in precum, and finally he shuddered just slightly beneath you. Grinning against his skin, you pushed the pants down his hips and took his underwear with them. 

You bit and licked at his skin one more time before sitting up. Your weight resting on his thighs prompted his eyes to flicker open, and you held his gaze as you removed your t-shirt. Your breasts felt heavy and your nipples hardened instantly. His gaze didn’t drop though, never breaking eye contact. You bit your lip, lowering against him once again.

Your breasts brushed against his chest and you dropped your hips, staring right back at him. Your thinly clothed sex came into contact with his massive erection and his jaw finally went slack, his lips falling open. You squeezed your thighs and rocked against him. You were already soaking wet, but you needed to keep yourself in check: you were on a mission. 

Thrusting against him a few more times, you kissed beneath his jaw before sliding down his body. You let every inch of yourself rub against him, kissing your way down his torso and pausing just below his bellybutton. You rubbed circles against his thigh with your fingertips, teasing closer and closer. You bit the skin just above his pubic bone and tugged it gently, letting your hand slip up his inner thigh. 

His breath caught when you cupped his balls, his chest heaving. His hands clenched at the sheets, and you watched in satisfaction as you sensed him losing control. Finally, you pressed a kiss to his tip and a deep groan rumbled within his chest in response. You smiled, massaging one ball at a time and licking him from base to tip. 

Closing your lips around him, you swirled your tongue around the head and sucked until he began to squirm. “_Fuck,_ sweetheart. Don’t stop.” He moaned. You took him deeper, feeling him at the back of your throat and hallowing your cheeks. You let him enjoy it for a long moment, relishing each sound that escaped his lips until you suddenly pulled back. He popped out of your warm mouth, and you released his balls only to grip the base of him tightly. 

“I might.” You mused. His eyes shot to yours, confusion written all over his face as he struggled to breathe. 

You shrugged, making sure to keep your mouth tantalizingly close to his throbbing cock. “I just might stop, who knows.” You exhaled a warm breath in the direction of his tip, watching him tremble from the sensation. “Maybe you should tell me.” You concluded, giving his base a firm squeeze. 

“Uh… huh? What?” he mumbled incoherently, lost in sensation. 

“Tell me about Tench.” 

He instantly stiffened, his head falling back as he let out a frustrated growl. “W-what the _fuck,_ Brooke.” He snarled. 

You kissed the side of his length, teasing it with your tongue as he clenched the sheets tightly with his fists. “It’s not rocket science: you tell me what you’re keeping from me about Tench. Whatever it is, I need to know right now. And who knows, if you tell me, I might just keep going.”

You squeezed his girth and jacked him off just a few times, playfully circling his tip with your tongue. He grunted as if in pain, and for a moment you thought he might push you away and bolt out of the room. He probably wanted to. It was delicious to realize that he couldn’t bring himself to do it, that you were in control of this moment. 

“It’s not so fun when you’re the one being played with, hmm?” you teased, savoring the dirty look he shot your way. An intense panic was evident in his eyes, and it reminded you of a caged animal… You had him right where you wanted him. 

He threw his head back to focus on the ceiling, unable to hold eye contact. You pulled your hand away from him entirely, but sank down and tenderly sucked on his balls, working them with your tongue one by one. You took the opportunity to slide your shorts down your thighs, the cold air making you shiver. 

_“No no no no no…”_ he slurred, his eyes shut tightly. 

You gave his balls a final kiss, then nibbled your way up to his hip. Resting your chin against the protruding bone, you stared up at him and couldn’t help but smile. He looked absolutely tortured, his cheeks tinted red as he muttered constantly under his breath. You let a hand rest just beside his cock, teasing the skin at the top of his thigh with your fingertips. “Tell me, Arthur.” You whispered. 

_“No.” _

“Ok, in that case I should go to sleep anyway so…” 

you started to move away but he swiftly brought a hand to your hair, holding you to him. _“No.” _

“So tell me.” 

You could hear his teeth grinding together. _“I can’t.” _

Damn it, this needed to happen _now._ If you couldn’t get it out of him here and now, he’d likely close off for good and would never let you back in. “Why can’t you just _fucking_ tell me?!” you demanded, refusing to fold.

“Because _I can’t!”_

“Yes, you can! Just fucking do it, Arthur!” 

His hands stopped clenching the sheets and moved to his face, covering his eyes with urgency. _“He was going to fucking kill you, alright?!”_ Each word felt like it was wrenched out of him, scratching their way out of his throat one-by-one. 

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting his big secret to be, but it definitely wasn’t that. “What… what do you mean?” 

His palms pressed into his eye sockets, every inch of him eerily still beneath you. “Tench… he was planning to torture and kill you.” 

Your brow furrowed, you rearranged yourself until you were straddling his waist, your weight resting partially on his stomach as you looked down at him. “You mentioned that before… you said Tench might kill me if I didn’t give him information about you…”

“Indeed.” He confirmed, jaw clenched firmly. “And I wasn’t just speculating about possibilities. I’ll spare you the exact wording, but he was planning to grab you off the street, torture you, and then he was planning to rip you apart and send your body to me in a cardboard box. I’m sugar coating things but I'm sure you get the gist.” 

His breathing had begun to even out, everything about him increasingly stiff and composed. You could feel the silent rage, the anger he felt towards himself for telling you all of this.

It was…. Not what you’d expected. You were shaken to the core, trying to read between the lines. Emotions you couldn’t place began to well up in your chest, and you found yourself dropping closer to him, your face hovering just a few inches from his. His hands still covered his eyes, as if shielding himself: creating a barrier. 

“You still care.” You pondered aloud. “I was right, I had it right… You brought me here to protect me. That’s why you’ve been so touchy about Tench… you didn’t want me knowing you’re protecting me… didn’t want me to know you still care…” 

“I _don’t_ care anymore. Alright? Jesus Christ, what more do I need to do to convince you of that? How can I make it any clearer?”

You scoffed bitterly. “You’re fucking telling me, you jackass. You’ve done plenty to prove how little you care about me.” You broke into a chuckle, unsure exactly which emotions you were experiencing. Maybe all of them? “You made me feel so… _stupid_ … all for still caring, for holding on to the past. _Let go,_ how many fucking times did you say that to me? All this teasing and taunting about me needing to move on and forget the past, and yet here you are…” you gestured toward him, the words flowing easily without having to think about it. “Here you are locking me up to keep me safe. You still care, you fucking bastard.” You accused, feeling the sudden need to scream. 

He said nothing, hadn’t even moved a muscle. “I don’t care.” He stated plainly. 

His palms were pressed so tightly to his eyes that you were beginning to worry he might do permanent damage. You sighed, shaking your head. “If that’s true, then why can’t you look at me?”

The silence was nearly unbearable. Gradually his hands unclenched and fell to his sides, but his eyes remained closed. You weren’t sure exactly what possessed you, but your hand cradled his jaw, your thumb sweeping over his cheek. He remained still and stoic, completely unresponsive to your touch. 

“Arthur… please look at me.” You begged.

When his green eyes finally flashed open, it was all there; everything hidden behind his calm and controlled exterior. He looked… _terrified._ Absolutely terrified. And somehow, that was all it took confirm everything.

He cared enough to protect you from Tench, and yet he was terrified of you knowing about it.

He cared. 

_He cared. _

His uncertain eyes searched your face, a tenderness to his gaze…

_He still cares. _

Emotions overwhelmed you, your vision blurry as you lifted your other hand and cradled both sides of his jaw. You kissed him, knowing that the world would have to end for you to stop. Maybe even then, you’d kiss him all the way to the underworld. He didn’t respond at first, but soon moaned against your lips and brought his hands to your waist. 

You deepened the kiss, letting it grow wild and throwing all your emotions into it. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back. He didn’t budge, only watched, as you moved to press kisses near his collarbone and the base of his neck. 

You lowered your hips and cried out when your wetness found his incredibly hard length. He let out a mangled groan as well, his heat rubbing between your folds. You were absolutely soaked, your inner muscles already beginning to clench with need. 

You needed this. You took hold of his cock and guided the head straight to your core. You teased him with your hand, working up and down his length with a tight fist while using his tip to stimulate your clit. 

He was still holding back and you knew it. He was experiencing just as much emotional turmoil as you were, and his refusal to show it was frustrating. You wanted to break him, the way he’d broken you. And god, had he broken you. You wanted to punch him and fuck him all at the same time. Biting your lip, you used him to circle your clit one last time before bringing his head to your opening. 

You sank down all in one go, taking every inch at once. It hurt wonderfully, the stretch just right. His garbled moan was music to your ears and you sighed in relief, enjoying the sensation for a long moment and allowing yourself to adjust. Then you gave your hips a wiggle, everything about him hot and hard and perfect inside you. 

You ground against him and clenched your inner muscles tightly. He stared down at where you were joined, watching you take him. His expression was controlled, his body tense. He was _still_ holding back. You needed to shake him. You lifted your hips, letting him have a good view of his length. You held steady, the tip of his cock nearly slipping out entirely until you finally sank back down on him. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” He mumbled, unable to look away. 

You lowered your torso, settling your elbows against the mattress on either side of him. Your nose brushed against his, and finally his eyes lifted to meet yours. Those eyes gave him away, telling you everything you needed to know. He looked lost, unsure, frustrated. For the first time since you’d reunited, he wasn’t in control: and he knew it. 

Fuck, you deserved this after everything he’d put you through. You _deserved_ a little control. You pulled back and sank down over and over again, sucking bruises along his throat and jaw. Your rhythm was slow, steady, controlled... You wanted to drive him wild. 

Before you could register what was happening, he sat up. His knees lifted off the bed behind you, your ass coming to rest against his thighs. His hands pressed into the bed behind him, propping up his torso. You could instantly feel him press against your cervix, the new position forcing him deeper. You threw your head back and cried out, your entire body tingling. 

Your arched back exposed your breasts, and he instantly closed his lips around a hard nipple. 

_“Arthur!”_ You shrieked, white light filling your vision for a long moment as your walls tightened around him. He thrust up into you, his position giving him the mobility to fuck you through it. You clenched uncontrollably around his girth, and your fingernails were biting into his shoulders as you struggled to keep your balance. It was overwhelming, the pleasure nearly enough to make you pass out. 

But he didn’t let you, biting hard on your nipple and thrusting deep. He sucked your hard peak into his warm mouth, caressing the tender flesh with his tongue. The orgasm finally retreated, but the pleasure did not. 

He growled against your breast, pushing into your tight channel as if his life depended on it. _I broke him._ The thought made you giddy; his controlled front had finally shattered, and he wasn’t holding back anymore. 

You clenched a fist in his hair, and he released your nipple only to trail his tongue up your chest and to your throat. He sucked on your pulse, his rhythm slowing and his thrusts becoming more deliberate and precise. 

“Oh god, oh god.” You keened, feeling the pressure begin to build once again. You circled your hips, grinding against him as he fucked into you. He groaned against your skin, and suddenly you needed to see him. 

You brought your face down and desperately kissed him. Tendrils of pleasure were spreading rapidly across your body, and his eyes meeting yours only fanned the flame. The green irises were wild, a reflection of the chaos within your own heart. He opened to your kiss, inviting you into his warmth and teasing you with his tongue. 

His thrusts were steady and punishing, his lips demanding against yours. “I can’t hold back, sweetheart. Lose control with me.” He commanded against you, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip before kissing you again with fervor. 

One hand gripping his hair, you slid the other down his chest as his rhythm began to pick up speed. Your fingers found your folds, his cock encased between them. You could feel how full you were, how perfectly he fit to your body. He moaned at the sensation of your fingertips brushing against his cock, and his thrusts grew sharp. 

You frantically circled your clit, loving the brutal way he seemed to plunge deeper with each thrust. You sucked on his tongue, then gasped against his lips as every sensation finally exploded. You clamped down on him, impossibly tight and able to feel every ridge of his cock as he thrust wildly. 

“Fuck, yes, yes.” He chanted against your mouth, his forehead pressing to yours as heat exploded deep inside of you. He kept pushing, giving you everything he had to give. You were perfectly filled, the euphoria of the moment overwhelming. His thrusts finally slowed, your senses gradually returning as your body hummed with satisfaction. For a moment, you were suspended in time, and then you collapsed against him. 

He fell back against the pile of clean sheets, a hand caressing the bare skin of you back. His heart thudded against your ear, and you briefly wished you’d undressed him earlier, not just yourself. You wanted to feel him completely naked, wished it was his warm skin against your cheek instead of his shirt.

You drifted off quickly, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep as you treasured his warm body beneath yours. 

*** 

Consciousness began to penetrate your dreams, the sunlight visible even with your eyes closed. You pushed your face into the pillow, desperate to ignore everything and stay asleep. It was warm and cozy, the bedding comfy. Maybe you’d gone to heaven and were sleeping on a cloud.

You woke up slowly, memories gradually coming back to you. It must have been real, right? You couldn’t have dreamt it, although it seemed too good to be true. Hesitantly, you let your eyes open, your vision taking a moment to adjust to the blinding daylight. 

You stared at the ceiling, then rolled onto your side. You froze, then blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. There was a bedside table, a carpet, the bedding was an entirely different color. The walls were painted a light cream color, not stark white. There was a regular door at the other end of the room, no steel bars in sight. 

This wasn’t your room.


	15. Daylight

Panic had begun to settle in when an arm wrapped around your torso. You jumped, glancing down and quickly realizing you were completely naked. Turning your head, relief washed over you. Arthur was behind you, his features completely relaxed in sleep. You fell back onto the pillow and pressed closer to him. His skin was warm, and his arm around you was heavenly. _His skin._ He was naked, as if he’d read your thoughts last night and granted your wish. 

You placed your hand on his, trailed your fingertips along his arm. He was really here. Which was… where exactly? You took in the room, noticing the empty walls and lack of furniture. There was a large window, warm daylight streaming through the curtains. The bed was bigger than any you could afford, and blankets were layered on top of the bedding for extra warmth. 

You smiled, overwhelmingly giddy. It was as if a weight had been lifted, like you’d been drowning but finally broken through to the surface. Arthur’s hand pressing to your stomach interrupted your thoughts, and his breath hit the back of your shoulder. 

He was awake, yet silent. You were struck with an odd sense of deja vu. It felt like it did the first time; as if the connection you’d felt last night had marked some sort of permanent shift. This morning, however, you found yourself unsure… how would he act now, in daylight? 

Finally, you decided on an easy question to break the ice. “Where are we?” 

He startled against you, unaware you were already awake. “My bedroom.” His voice was raspy with sleep. 

“Your bedroom…” you murmured. You found your eyes growing wet, and were infinitely glad he couldn’t see your face. “You didn’t leave this time.” You whispered, wondering if you should pinch yourself. His only answer was to press closer, his arm securing around your waist. Warm lips pressed to the back of your neck and you moaned as his erection settled against your backside. 

His hand moved up to cup your breast, gently massaging it with his palm. He nibbled on your earlobe and you couldn’t resist grinding against him. Your muscles were slightly sore, but your body was already buzzing with anticipation.

“I need to have you again.” He rasped against your skin. His hand slid down your body and he lifted your thigh, helping you hook your leg behind his knee. He kissed the back of your shoulder, and you bit your lip when his length found your sensitive sex. It settled between your folds and hit your clit with barely-there thrusts. You closed your eyes and let yourself feel: here you were, in the daylight, and he still wanted you. 

You sighed and arched your spine, meeting him halfway as he slid into your heat. Desire curled within as he took you slowly, only stilling once you had all of him. He kissed below your ear and unhooked your leg, letting your thighs press together. A moan escaped you; the tightness was devastating, your walls trembling around his thick length. 

He nibbled down your exposed neck, sucking on your pulse point as his hand snuck around to cup you. The added pressure to your clit was enough to make your muscles clench, and he began a steady rhythm. Last night had been intense, but this… it’s as if the world shattered last night, and together you’re rearranging the pieces. 

_Together._ The sensations proved too much, and you whimpered as an orgasm tore through you. He didn’t stop, keeping his rhythm steady. His hand left your clit and wrapped around your waist, pulling you as tightly to him as humanly possible. His unspoken need for you was overwhelming, and contentment bloomed in your chest. 

You reached down to caress his arm, lacing your fingers together. He buried himself to the hilt, rutting against you. The head of his cock hit your G-spot, the pressure quickly returning to your core. You could sense your limbs beginning to stiffen, unable to do anything besides moan. His breathing picked up as he hummed against your throat. 

His rhythm faltered and he buried his face into the crook of your neck, biting onto the skin. You somehow found the will to move, grinding your hips the best you could with your limited mobility. You squeezed your thighs tighter, every ridge of his shaft dragging along your muscles. 

Your eyes rolled back as another wave of pleasure overtook you, your channel clenching around him like a vice. He let out a low groan, his teeth tightening on your skin. Sinking in deep, he stilled and heat filled your core. A sob escaped your lips, and he held you close as the pulses of pleasure eventually subsided. 

His teeth released your skin and he collapsed behind you, panting. Muscles slack, you relaxed against him and clutched his hand to your chest. You basked in the afterglow and smiled into the pillow. Once you found the strength you turned over completely, coming face-to-face with him. His eyes were closed and his hair was falling into his face: you brushed your fingers through it, studying the green tint. 

That’s when your gaze caught on something hanging on the wall behind him. After a double-take and a bit of squinting, it came into focus and your eyes instantly grew wet. A thumb brushed along your cheek, catching your tears. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You shook your head and smiled, unable to believe what you were seeing. “You… you kept it.” You murmured, biting your lip. You could see the moment it dawned on him: his eyes widened, a flicker of panic behind them. You wrapped your arms around his torso and brought your face closer, brushing your nose against his. He was searching for an excuse, refusing to make eye contact. 

Your smile fell, a dark memory intruding. “I almost did the same thing, you know.” His gaze finally met yours as you continued. “I almost burned that damn sketch. I almost burned _all_ of it, everything I had of you.” 

He looked unsurprised. “Why didn’t you?” 

You lifted a hand to his face, studying him. “I just… couldn’t let go.” 

His eyes fell closed. “You should have.” 

The words were quiet, almost vulnerable. You kissed him tenderly, stroking his cheek as you did so. He eventually relaxed, wrapping an arm around you as he kissed you back. You held him for a long while before finally pulling away to catch your breath. “Will you tell me?” 

His brow furrowed. “Tell you what?” 

You shrugged. “Everything, I want to know everything.” 

He chuckled, falling onto his back. “That’s a _very_ broad request.” 

You cuddled up to him, your chin resting on his chest and arm draped across his hips. “Ok, I’ll try to make things easier… how and when did you find me?”

You could sense the armor, the brick walls he’d built around himself fighting to push you away. You pressed a soft kiss to his upper chest and waited patiently. 

When he finally spoke, it was with great hesitation. “I’ve got connections, Brooke. I kept tabs on you periodically using different records and information, but eventually got curious and decided to see you in person. I started to check in from a distance every once and a while, and at some point…” he paused, carefully considering his words. “At some point Tench, or one of his men, saw it. They stole from one of my storage units outside the city and that’s where he left a note. He was… very specific about his plans. I sent men to your store, knowing you’d get off work anytime and that Tench could already be making a move. My men followed you and, well, you know the rest.” 

You hummed, considering. “No, I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know the rest of the story at all. I know _my_ side of everything, I want to understand _yours.”_

He was silent, then suddenly moved out from under you. He began to climb off the bed, but paused. He gripped the sheets and carefully kept himself covered, refusing to let you see him, leaning over to pull on his red pants and the familiar blue shirt. Only then did he let the sheets fall away as he stood up. 

He didn’t look at you, slicking his hair back and making his way around the bed. “I’m starving. Are you starving?” You weren’t given the opportunity to answer. “Stay here, I’ll be back with some food.”

You watched with lips ajar as he disappeared and closed the door behind him. He was still fighting this, still fighting this conversation. You thought you’d broken him down last night: you’d seen the look in his eyes when you realized he still cared, how terrified he’d been. You’d gained some control last night, pushed him out of his comfort zone. 

Now he was trying to pull away, trying to regain that control. You couldn’t let him. You couldn’t let him put on his armor. He’d brought you to his room, you were in his _bed._ Clearly things had changed for him last night, and you refused to let things regress. 

Eventually the door swung open, and there he was with an armful of food and a mischievous grin. You sat up, resting your back against the headboard. He made sure the door closed behind him, then turned to you with a brow raised playfully. 

Then he… skipped? No… _danced_ toward you, twirling gracefully on his feet. He came to a theatrical halt at the edge of the bed, humming along to a silent melody. After a dramatic bow, he dumped the food on the bedding. “One of the many perks of my bedroom, darling; breakfast in bed. The best in the city, if I do say so myself.” 

You shrieked as he leapt onto the mattress, unable to hold in your laughter. “God, what the fuck is wrong with you?” you teased as he settled against the headboard beside you, his legs outstretched. 

“Do you want an alphabetical list?” he shot back, sifting through the food to find a personal sized box of cheerios. 

You watched him with a shocked smile, wishing you didn’t find his antics so amusing. He gulped down a handful of the dry cereal, gesturing to the rest of the food. “Well, are you gonna help me eat all of this?”

You rolled your eyes before picking out a small bag of almonds, deciding to go with a healthy option. You chewed casually, watching him from the corner of your eye. You barely hesitated before deciding to pick up where you’d left off. “Ok… so, your men brought me here, locked me up. Then what?”

He rolled his eyes teasingly. “Oh, are we still talking about that?”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Of _course_ we’re still talking about it… why wouldn’t we still be talking about it?”

He let out an exasperated groan. “I just don’t get it. You already know the rest of the story, what more do you need? What do you _want_ from me Brooke?” 

His harsh tone brought tears to your eyes. “I _want_ to understand you. Everything that's happened since I’ve been here… I want to see your side of things. I still have so many questions, how could I not? I felt like you... _hated_ me. You were so cold, acted like I was nothing. Now I find out you've been checking in on me all these years, that you brought me here to _protect_ me... you’ve acted so hot-and-cold this entire time and I just want to know why-“

“I didn’t know how to talk to you!” he blurted out, his eyes flashing with frustration. “I wasn’t the Arthur you knew. Checking in from afar was one thing, but having you… _here_… talking to you… Curiosity kept getting the best of me. I kept going back to that damn room and sitting at that stupid desk. I felt like I wasn’t in control, and I don’t... I’m not used to...”

“I know.” You interjected, earning a dirty look that made you chuckle. 

His eyes grew distant, lost in some memory. “Being around you, it reminded me of… too many things. Things I moved past years ago.”

The wheels were spinning, your mind racing. 

He huffed, his frustration growing. “You’d say something and I’d feel something, and I can’t fucking _do_ it, Brooke. I can’t… _eat_ all of this food by myself.”

Startled by the change of topic, you glanced down to see his hand tapping incessantly against his thigh. He looked ready to jump out of his own skin. You didn’t want to let him change the subject; you wanted to explain how deeply you understood, how you’d lost your balance the moment you'd seen him again. Instead, you reached out and clasped his hand between your own, letting your head rest against his shoulder. 

Things were still a mess. You had so many questions, needed to know exactly how he felt about you and why he’d acted the way he did. Looking at him now, you could feel the blush in your cheeks. Your heart rate increased as you studied his profile. Even though you’d made an effort to protect yourself, your heart was quickly entering dangerous territory. The future was a blur, a complete mystery.

But for now, you were here. You were in his bed, and he was holding your hand. You could let things sit, for now at least. 

So you picked out a granola bar and basked in the daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all, I want to say that I'm SO sorry for taking so long. I've been struggling personally, and didn't have motivation to do anything, including write. I really didn't think I would be able to continue the story, to be honest.
> 
> But I'm back, and it's here, and it's... short. I apologize for that, just consider this chapter a warm-up for me to get back into the swing of things :) 
> 
> Thank you for your kind feedback and your patience with me <3


	16. Evolved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was absolutely BLOWN AWAY by the support I received on the previous chapter. I was pretty worried that after a long time away, this story would be forgotten. That was not the case, so thank you for your continued interest in my writing. The personal support you all offered was honestly mind blowing, I appreciate you readers so much and can’t thank you enough for encouraging me to put my own well being first and foremost. You are all rockstars <3

The part of your brain that wanted to ask questions grew silent as the morning went on. The one time you tried to get out of bed, you were pulled into a searing kiss that quickly turned into more. Eventually, you had to use the bathroom and he reluctantly let you go. You took the opportunity to approach the window, surprised to see an empty field once you pulled the curtains aside. You’d expected filthy city streets, not serene countryside. “So, this is where you’ve been all this time. Hiding out in the middle of nowhere.” You mused, glancing back as he casually smoked a cigarette in bed. 

“There’s been a few different safe houses, but I move around pretty constantly. For a while it was abandoned buildings in the city, then we started moving into places like this.”

You nodded silently, unsurprised by the confirmation that he’d been within city limits all along. “People thought you were dead for a long time.” You said absently. 

“Did you?” 

You froze, instantly transported to the worst days of your life. You studied the grass as it billowed in the wind, contemplating your answer. “No, I didn’t.” you answered finally. “I considered it once or twice but never really believed it.”

“Why not?”

You stared pensively through the glass. “I’m not sure, some part of me just… always knew you were out there.” Silence hung as you thought back to those dark days. Your brow furrowed, a thought coming to mind. “I’ve been meaning to mention that I haven’t heard you laugh.”

“Maybe you’re just not funny, sweetheart.” He jabbed playfully. 

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “No, I mean… _laugh._ You don’t have the attacks anymore, do you?” You moved the curtains back into place and turned around. He was exhaling a cloud of smoke, eyeing your naked form as you climbed on the bed. He offered you his cigarette, and you gladly took it for a long drag. 

He shook his head, shrugging nonchalantly. “That stopped a long time ago.”

You nodded in thought, handing the cigarette back to him. “Do you think… I mean, was it real? How can it just be gone?”

He shrugged again, unbothered. “Who knows? Whether it was real or not, once I let go of everything and stopped my meds… Now I let myself laugh whenever I feel like it, and it doesn’t hurt anymore. Ever.”

You watched him curiously, his painted face on your TV screen flashing in your mind. “Nothing can hurt you anymore.” You murmured.

His lips lifted into a sly grin. “Now you’re gettin’ it.”

You found yourself smiling, eyes dropping to the bedding as heat rose to your cheeks. That mischievous smile did things to your insides.

“Actually, there is _one_ thing that does hurt me.” He added. You glanced up in confusion, perplexed. He smirked, flicked his cigarette, and pushed away from the headboard. “You being naked and me not being on top of you.” 

You shrieked playfully, and before you knew it he had you floating on air all over again. 

*** The Next Day ***

You had just finished showering when a knock interrupted the peace and quiet. You heard Arthur climb off the bed and open the bedroom door, then an unfamiliar voice. You pressed an ear to the bathroom door, cracking it open just a bit. Even still, you could only hear bits and pieces: _ready to go… your mark… getting antsy._ Your brow furrowed as you wondered what on earth they were talking about. 

Arthur’s voice rose, commanding and firm. “Tell them to fucking sit down and relax. We go when I say we go, and no sooner than that.”

He was met with a groan of frustration. “I understand that sir, but how much longer? The men are ready, you know we’re all itching to finish this guy. I’m running out of things to tell them, just give me something-“

“We’re done here. Tell them whatever you want.” Arthur stated, closing the door and letting out a huff of irritation. 

A part of you had always struggled to grasp the concept that Arthur, sweet and shy Arthur, could be a criminal mastermind. When you thought of the man you’d fallen for years ago, _leader_ certainly wasn’t a description that came to mind. Clearly, he’d grown into the role. It was fascinating to witness even a small glimpse of it, the man that so many others took orders from. 

You waited a moment before opening the bathroom door the rest of the way, stepping out as you dried yourself with a towel. “Is everything alright?”

You could’ve sworn he flinched, but it was instantly masked with a smile. “What do you mean?”

Your gut flipped, screaming at you that you weren’t supposed to witness his conversation. You ignored it. “What was he talking about?”

Arthur was completely still for a long moment before chuckling and strolling to the window. “The men aren’t used to this much quiet. They’re getting bored, ready for our next job.”

You took a moment to quiet your nerves. “Finishing Tench?” you assumed, watching him search his pockets. 

“Where are…” he muttered, turning on his heel. He made a beeline for the bedside table, lighting a cigarette before sitting on the far edge of the mattress.

You waited, rubbing your toes in patterns along the carpet before eventually plopping onto the opposite side of the bed. “I’m right, aren’t I?” 

You could picture his clenched jaw once he finally confirmed it. “Yes, you are.”

“What are you waiting for, exactly? Do you already know where he is?” You ran the towel over your hair one last time before dropping it to the floor and climbing under the covers. It was the middle of the afternoon, but you were in no hurry to leave the bed. 

He focused on his cigarette for a bit, and you could sense his apprehension. “I want to make sure things go right. That bank job got fucked up and I don’t want any mistakes this time around.”

It made sense, but you had the nagging suspicion he still wasn’t being transparent. Normally, you would fight him on something like this. But you weren’t sure what the rules were now that things had... changed. You decided it could wait for another time. “I’m sure things will be fine, clearly your men are pissed off and focused.” You mused absentmindedly.

“Trust me, I’m not making any moves until I know for damn sure that nothing will go wrong.” He confirmed, and you studied the back of his shoulders as he took another drag. 

Tench would be gone. _Tench would be gone._

Your heart rate increased as you watched him. No more Tench would mean so many things… above all else, no more threat to your safety. You’d be free to leave. _Leave._You could go back to your apartment. Back to your job. Back to your life. That was a good thing. So why did the thought of it make you so uneasy? As you soaked in every detail of the man before you, your heart ached. 

You would leave, of course. You’d have to leave. There was no other option, no other choice.You’d have no excuse to stay here, no more Tench to threaten you. What would it mean if you decided to stay? What would it say about you? 

Somehow you hadn’t considered what would happen once this was all over. You wanted to push the thoughts from your mind, pretend they’d never existed. You weren’t ready for another fork in the road, not when things with Arthur had just changed so drastically. 

He finished his cigarette, dropping it on the ashtray and pulling his legs up onto the bed. He settled against the headboard, his arm inches from yours. You wished you could hit the rewind button, now unable to think of a single thing to say. You could bring it up, ask him if he’d considered the future at all. _Does it matter? Who cares? Let go, Brooke._ You could already hear the likely response. 

It dawned on you this was the first time in days you’d worried about anything. You’d been enjoying this time with him, hidden away in his personal space. You’d let go of the past and the future, and had simply lived in the present. The only time you’d ever felt this way was in the beginning with him, before everything happened. Back then you’d felt suspended in time, as if nothing else existed. This felt the same, somehow set apart from the rest of the world. A separate reality. 

“What’s got your wheels turning?” he asked, lighting another cigarette as you watched. It settled between his fingers gracefully, his lips caressing the filter. He tilted his head back as he exhaled, and you watched the muscles of his throat. You had to gulp down a lump in your own, your heart beating wildly. 

Your gaze fell just beyond him, to the sketch on the wall. There he was, sprawled out on your old bed like he belonged there. It was hard to believe you’d almost burned something so precious. You closed your eyes, remembering the intensity of the moment: the lighter ready to go, his soft features stopping you from allowing the flame to reach the paper.

Then you opened your eyes, and there he was in the flesh. His face slightly fuller, his features noticeably less soft, his eyes lacking the innocence they used to radiate. But for the first time, you couldn’t tell the difference between the man on the paper and the man sitting beside you. The Arthur in your sketch wasn’t gone at all, he’d simply... evolved. 

You realized your palms were sweaty, your body responding to his presence in every way. When had things shifted within you so deeply? Was it when you woke up in his bed, his chest warm against your back? Or had it always been there, the unbearable attraction that you felt towards him now? 

The rational side of your brain said no, it wasn’t possible. You’d spent the past two years terrified of him, sure that someday he would find and kill you. You’d dreaded reuniting with him, sure that it would mean your ruin. You’d mourned for him, sure that the Arthur you’d known was completely gone and a monster had taken his place. So why did your heart feel like it might burst from your chest?

His green eyes found yours, interrupting your thoughts. You knew you were staring at him but couldn’t bring yourself to stop. 

“Hello, anybody home?” he asked, looking at you like you were crazy. Maybe you were. 

You finally tore your eyes away, trying to get your breathing under control. “I uh… I was zoning out. Did you know your hair matches your eyes? Was that an artistic decision?”

He snorted, clearly amused. “I knew you liked the green. Alright, you had your shower, now it’s my turn. Unless you’d like to join?” he raised a brow in question. 

You shook your head. “I just showered, dummy. Next time.” You needed space, time to reflect. You were trying to be playful, but he could definitely tell that something was off - it was written all over his face. He didn’t push any further though, simply disappeared to the bathroom. 

You immediately stood, needing to move. You pushed the curtains aside and observed the surroundings. It was nothing but open space, incredibly quiet and peaceful. 

You paced incessantly, pausing for a moment at the closet. You slid the door open out of curiosity; empty, aside from a few wire hangers. Then your eye caught on a familiar object sitting high on a shelf. Reaching up, you carefully lowered it to your chest. Your eyes blurred and a million emotions burst within. 

It was your Arthur box. Everything you had left of him: the things you’d taken from his apartment, his mother’s Arkham file, his keys. Your sketchbook, too. All of it, sitting here in the closet. _Why would he keep all of this?_ You sat down, looking through everything and savoring every second. 

You glanced to the bathroom door, making sure the shower still running, before looking back to the contents of the box. It struck you that he probably hadn’t shown you this for a reason; looking to the past wasn’t easy for him. You packed everything up, but decided to keep the sketchbook. Setting the box right where you’d found it, you made your way to the bed and climbed under the covers. 

By the time the shower turned off, you were halfway done with a basic sketch of the room. The sound of humming from the bathroom brought a smile to your face. Before long the door was swinging open, his personal rendition of ‘Luck Be a Lady’ continuing as he sauntered into the room with a towel slung around his waist and cigarette between his lips. 

The humming came to an abrupt halt once his eyes fell to your lap. “Where did you find that?” he asked, quickly pulling the cigarette away from his mouth and stopping in his tracks. 

You shot him a look that you hoped was calming. “Don’t worry, the rest of it is still in the closet. I just grabbed the sketchbook, figured I would do a quick doodle.” With that you got back to work.

He stood unmoving for a long moment before finally joining you in bed. He pulled the covers up to his bellybutton, and you instantly felt his eyes on the paper. He whistled and said “That’s quite a doodle.” 

You smiled, feeling a hint of pride. “It’s pretty much just an outline, but… thank you.” 

The smell of smoke and mint wrapped itself around you like an old familiar friend. You felt the sudden urge to scoot closer, to press your side against his.

“What about those landscapes you’ve been drawing? The _simple, uncomplicated_ ones.” He teased lightly. You only hesitated for a moment, then flipped through the pages. Canyons, mountains, rivers, oceans, islands, beaches, castles, you’d lost track of how many you’d drawn. 

“Jesus, you have an entire gallery in that thing.” 

“Yeah, I was kind of locked in a room for a while. Drawing and sleeping were basically my only options.” 

You could feel the tension instantly, the way he froze up beside you. You let him struggle for a few moments before glaring at him with an exaggerated squint. “I’ll be sure to give you credit when I open my gallery. A shout out, for providing me the ideal opportunity to perfect my craft.” The relief was obvious when he realized you were only teasing him. 

He rolled his eyes before looking back to the drawings. “All this is from your imagination?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much, plus all those pictures you see on TV and magazines. I’ve always been fascinated by this kind of stuff, but lately... I’ve realized how badly I want to see things like this in person. It’s gonna be hard to go back to normal life when places like these exist.”

The silence was instant as you realized your mistake. No. _No, no no._ The future wasn’t supposed to interrupt yet. You bit your lip, hoping he wouldn’t pursue the topic. 

“You don’t have to go back to normal, Brooke.” He voiced quietly. You pressed your eyes tightly closed. You weren’t ready for this. How could you tell him that you _needed_ to go back to normal life? You _had_ to, right? The words were caught in your throat when he exhaled smoke and furthered his point with hesitation. “You could…I don’t know, do something else…”

You were trying your best to keep from crying, praying he wouldn’t notice the way your hand was trembling. “Like _what,_ Arthur?”

You could hear his breath catch in his throat. “I don’t know, Brooke. What do you _want_ to do?”

If you could rip a hole in the fabric of time and scream into the void, you would. Your focus shifted to the drawing below. The peaceful beach, serene waves, an existence you could only dream of. _Maybe he could go with me._ The thought startled you, so new and foreign that you weren’t sure what to make of it. No, now you were just being naïve. 

“You were miserable, Brooke, I saw it every time I’d check in on you. You don’t have to go back to living that way... Gotham will keep walking all over you just like it did to me. You told me once that you wanted your story to change, so change it. Like I did.”

Now the tears gathered, crushed by the fact that he remembered things you’d told him years ago. You felt torn in a million directions and weren’t prepared to face a single one of them yet. “I… I can’t talk about this right now.” You managed to choke out. 

His hand settled on yours, to your surprise. You hadn’t realized just how violently it was trembling until now. “There’s always a room available for you here.”

There it was, the invitation to stay. Here. _With him._ You’d considered the possibility already of course, but hearing him purpose the idea himself was beyond comprehension. _So he has thought about it, the future._ Your heart warmed a few degrees before quickly dropping again. It didn’t matter that he was open to the idea of you staying, no matter how fuzzy it made you feel. It wasn’t an option for you, but he didn’t need to know that yet. You weren’t ready to say the words out loud. So instead you chuckled, studying his hand on yours. “Does this _room_ you mention have steel bars and a locked gate?” 

He let out a full, genuine laugh, and you felt the melancholy heaviness in your heart lift just a bit. 

“I don’t think you’d have to worry about that, I know the owner pretty well.” He winked. You didn’t see it, but you didn’t have to see it to know.

You let yourself laugh, relieved. Teasing, joking, giggling; this was when things felt easy with him. You’d have a choice to make, you knew it and he did too. But not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for another long wait. The story is gearing up for the final act, so these chapters will be long and dense! If you were worried about the story ending soon, you have nothing to fear. I’ve spent the past few days mapping out the rest of the story and there’s definitely still quite a bit of story to cover!
> 
> I’m curious what your thoughts are, on Arthur, Brooke, their dynamic, what the future will look like. Let me know your thoughts, and again... thank you for your continued support!


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